Long Frailness Poems
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Feeble, a word not often used
in this hi-def, mega bite world,
where almost anything can be done
with the tap of a fingertip,
the aged still feel feeble.
This crackled feeling runs along the rims
of brittle nails
and gray-white strands of hair.
The once svelte figures of maid or man,
now chose more often to crunch and snap,
as ligaments roll unpleasantly over joint heads.
The witty repartee of youth is replaced by a dazed look.
Yes, at this moment,
après gym and post nap
and pre chair massage a wobbling frailness
surrounds me in a weak chicken broth
of feebleness.
fingerless mits
cover bloodless palms –
weak spring sun
emotion: feeble
poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: How Do I Feel Today
The rain clouds gather outside and
I see his umbrella bouncing over the hedge.
I hear him enter the gate with case in hand;
He slowly closes the gate and heads for the door.
A light knock reverberates into the library,
I hear the door close and his soft voice say,
“Good evening ma’am, I’m here for a tuning”.
She takes his coat and he heads for the gold leaf piano.
He removes mother’s lace carefully from atop,
He neatly sets it on the maroon divan.
He opens his case of tools with ease,
No rush does he have in his bones.
Like clock work, I know what he’s doing,
Without stepping foot out of the library.
He repeatedly strikes the keys in tune.
Using his trusty rubber mute.
After an hour or so I hear the case close,
He gently puts mother’s lace back.
He pops his fingers and gives it a try.
He tickles the ivories with frailness.
He plays from mother’s hymnal book.
His fragile fingers play the song,
‘Power in the blood’ as he hums along.
I love when he comes to revive the piano.
I hear him politely tell the maid he’s all done,
She hands him his coat with check, the door softly closes.
The rusty gate shuts as the umbrella bounces,
Over the hedge and he fades away from my view.
I got six endearments in life as far as I could recall
From my pre-school to a working staff of a school
My uncles and aunts called me Darling in Kinder
An apple of their eyes especially to my father
My father gave me a small gold ring engraved, Darling
I won family’s attention by declamation, dancing or singing
When I was in grade school I was very sickly
Despite frailness and vulnerability, I was still happy
For speed recoveries my mom called me, Sunshine
For I was born at sunrise, then finally I felt fine
In high school, I was slim but still looking cute
Some cousins called me Thumbelina - still soothe
Cousin-boys carried all my stuffs while holding my hand
“Let’s go Thumbel!”-caring gestures made me feel grand
When I’ve grown older and found someone
He called me, Sweetheart or Love -- so sweet and fun
I turned into a busy beaver losing time with my love
He surprised me with “Muffin”, so I quitted the job
April 24, 2022 8.36am
He stood there in the doorway
His legs dangled in white shorts
His blue shirt matching the rags
The mechanics used to clean tools
His fingertips yellow stained of fungus
I could barely see his blues eyes
Through the reddish brown colored
Replacing any hints of good health
Clutching a Winston banging on a sea burg
he juggled three scantily clad women
One hillbilly a blonde hick and this
black chick from Cleveland with no teeth
I hardly recognized him except for
he was still giving orders in this frailness
chanting cigarettes for everyone spare
no expense Marlboros Newport's Winston's
I never understood the urgency of nicotine
I watched him light the match pull on the filter
Release the smoke building his confidence up
It angered me I suppose watching him
Commit suicide tossing his cancer meds.
through all my pleading yelling screaming
he finally got it actually taking his medication
putting the trash out beating cancer in the end
closing the shop where his new identity begin
Sleep eludes me, my thoughts engulf me...
The room is quiet....
I hear a branch outside my window, scratch the glass, in winter's wind
I cannot slumber, I cannot escape the waiting, I have no tears left to cry
Reflected shadows, dark silhouettes of trembling trees, hover over me
Oh God,... please take her now...
Is it early morn, or early evening? It is so hard to tell...
when day is night, and night is day,... each passing hour seems alike.
At last it seems this night that would never end,
is quickly giving away to morning
Restlessly, I turn to face the wall
In the faint light, I can barely see the flowered wallpaper
in pale pastels, ....sweet roses.......
I count them one by one, soft shades, a trace of the pink that they used to be
worn by the years, faded by the sunlight that comes in the afternoon light...
before the darkness filled the room....
I remember when she picked this cheery pattern...so bright with color
Another time, ..... an eternity ago,
It is loose at the seams, just a faint remnant of color....
Again, I turn my head to check on her.
The large poster bed, holds her like a small child
She looks lost among the covers.
I see the frailness, a delicate shell of the woman she used to be,
The bedside clock ticks steadily... winding down...hour by hour, minute by minute
I watch the movement of her chest as it barely rises, and falls
So shallow the breathing, it struggles and she endures
I thank God that she seems to be sleeping
And I pray that her dreams are happy ones
.......................................................................................................................................
My daughter had been sickly for a time
The flu, they said, her health will shortly climb
A few days later came the call we dread
I'll ne’er forget the words the doctor said:
"We got your daughter's blood work back today.
I'm not sure there is any easy way
To tell you she has cancer of the blood.
I'm sorry, but the outlook isn't good."
I dropped the phone and couldn't hide the tears
My daughter hadn't yet to reach six years
This had to be a mix up or mistake
But her frailness confirmed this wasn't fake.
We sat down on her bed and held her close
So tiny and so perfect in repose
But before either one of us could speak
She smiled and spoke in a voice small and weak.
"I know you want to tell me that this flu
Will not be getting better, but I knew
See Jesus sent an angel to my bed
Who said I needn't fear what lies ahead."
"I asked about the c-word sometimes used
By mom and daddy talking while I snoozed.
He told me about cancer inside me
And said that heaven very soon I'd see."
And seeing tears, my daughter grabbed our hands
“There's one more thing you need to understand
The angel had a note for both of you:
Said, 'Courage is a mighty C-word too.'"
Where she was laid to rest a stone highlighted by the dew
Reminds me she said, "Courage is a mighty C-Word too."
December 12, 2016