You imagine I am sleeping,
my eyelids closed in seeming calm
over eyes whose pain you might read too accurately,
yet you come to visit me from time to time:
          a son, out of responsibility
          a daughter, guilt
          grandchildren, so you'll remember me
          lifelong friend, just because.

Do you doubt I sense your gentle touch
on the hand free from tubes and needles?
Or the hesitant kiss on withered lips?
Do you question whether I can hear
your love words, apologies, recriminations,
talk of funeral flowers?  Do you remember
that the peace rose is my favorite?

I long to acknowledge each of you
and give assurances as in days gone by.
I long to put your fears to rest; to send you
away form this room to savor your own lives.
Yet Death's shadow hovers
in the dimness just above,
impatient to collect his prize.  And I,
caught unwillingly in a journey I no longer fear,
can cry out for neither love nor release.

Better would I die than linger
in this life that is no life;
better flirt with hell
than let you, my loved ones, suffer.

Sylvia Saenz