Jocelyn...

she is pale, white, emaciated,
on that last day, her hands made most of the grips

she did not want Chona to leave her in that room
she wanted more pillows, but then the pain
despite the high dose of morphine
and the softness of the pillows and the coldness of the
hospital ward,

did not diminish the pain until she finally
made the final gaze and said the
last words, a la cell phone
terminology:

i am checking off.Then she died.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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