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The Art of Living Part Two

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Below is the poem entitled The Art of Living Part Two which was written by poet Shayla Dendinger. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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The Art of Living Part Two

Monday, February 27th   
The bell rings and all the people walk out to get on their buses or to get to their cars. I 
walk with some of my friends as we talk about what happened the day before. I finally 
reach my bus, and find the number of my bus seat. I sit down and pull out my iPod, and 
I listen to “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. I am thinking about the weekend when I 
went to go see granny Helen on Saturday, but she wasn’t there, she was at a wrestling 
match. It is now Monday and I thought about her for some odd reason. After an hour we 
finally reached my house; I have to walk a mile to get to my back yard. I calmly walk up 
towards the house and I open the door. I sat my book bag down on the floor, that’s 
when I heard a sound coming from my mom’s room. I quietly opened the door and I see 
that she has been crying, my brother was sitting on her bed. She looks at me when I 
asked her what was wrong, if it was her boyfriend? Or if something happened to my 
sister? She responds “Granny Helen is in very bad condition, they don’t think she’s going 
to make it.”I asked “what happened?” She puts on her jacket and grabs the keys.
She started the car and said “Granny was sitting at the table, she told Gino (her 
boyfriend) that she couldn’t breathe, and he laid her on the floor then called 911. By the 
time they got there it was too late, she already turned blue, her eyes were bloodshot 
and wide open, when the paramedics came they used a breathing tube on her, they 
kept her heart pumping even though she was gone. You could hear the water in her 
lungs.” During that time my mom called several people and told them the news. I 
remember when I used to go up to the blue house where granny lived, me and my 
cousins would be up there and we would play, watch scary movies and eat grannies 
tuna casserole. I was four when I started calling Helen, Granny Helen.  
I sat in the car thinking about all the years I had with granny Helen. My mother and 
brother were still crying, there was no way a tissue could help. I couldn’t find a reason 
to cry yet, because I knew that there could be a chance she would come back. 
We finally arrive at the hospital. We see Jason, Megan’s husband and we ask him where 
they have Helen; he ignored us and kept on walking. I got upset, knowing that it was 
serious and maybe she was already gone. We asked the lady where Helen was, which 
room she was in.

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