Hospital Visitor
She whispered in my ear of neon lights,
my mother,celebrated actress,
waning star in sick bay,
zany bird nest hairstyle on display,
lock and tress erect,
skin-fold ripple eggshell pallor,
mothball end play flutter from the wings.
I, devoted sibling, reluctant hospital visitor,
now bearing doleful witness,
to the voice that once enthralled a thousand hearts,
with oral feats and seismic tone-shifts,
like someone trying to catch a friend’s attention on an outbound train,
now tragic downturn ache.
Apple walnut salad only deli window fodder in her eyes,
Dijon mustard sachet cast aside as if unwanted email spam,
get well cards cut paper dragon trails.
Nightingales of tender years and warmth who nurse in rosters,
slowly spread those deathly forms right underneath an icon’s split chin rash.
Whiff of starchy clerk and file procedure hovers over gridlock wards,
private health insurance an albatross of waiver in that very human passing out parade.
Yet here I am, son and heir, entr’acte curator of maternal legend’s skyward exit,
tummy rumble moment where impromptu has the edge on solemn plot,
as one walks on stage hoping not to freeze.
The one true screen test all
must face dear mum would say,
before our sip from life’s rich cup becomes a stain upon the twilight bow of curtains.
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