The hard white walls are her only company,
As she stares transfixed through the frosty window pane.
Small white crystals dance softly on the dark night’s breeze,
Going this way and that, but always falling down to the ground.
She shivers on the cold window sill, leaning against the hard white walls,
Her thoughts take her back to a chocolate brown chestnut bench seat swing,
Gently rocking from a young girls’ swaying legs.
Resting her head in the arm of a man weather gray with gentle wrinkles just whispering in the corners of his eyes and mouth, listens to his chest rumble with laughter so warm and hearty, causing a caring smile to illuminate her features. ..
A moan so deep and sorrowful cries out across the white room,
Startles her from her peaceful thoughts.
She runs to the side of the hard white hospital bed,
Quickly yet gently grasps the clammy swollen withered hand of a man who has seen many years.
His wrinkles around his eyes and mouth have grown deep with the passing of time.
With a voice thick with emotion, she lightly gets out “dziadunio I am here”.
But the only response is the irregular wet crackling and labor-some breathing as he continues to lay silently in a coma.
She waits hopeful, watching listening praying for a sign that he has journeyed back from his long slumber, but no such miracles occur.
She begins to talk about anything: how the family is doing, the upkeep of his garden, his squirrels.
More for her than him, to keep her mind from the impeding acknowledgment that she is finally losing him after 3 years of his hard fight against the terrible cancer cells sucking his life out of him.
Gently laying his hand on his chest, she pulls up the blankets and gives him a kiss on his feverish brow goodnight. “I love you” were her last words to him as she stood watching over.
After a time she lays back in the chair near his bed, where she falls into a soft slumber.
Waking to a eerie silence, the tears she held back for so long threatened to cascade down her pale cheeks uncontrollably. Her mind drifts to promises that were made in the past that would not be fulfilled in the future: no dancing the taniec ludowy at her wedding, no finishing the bed bath, or the rose flower bed. Because on that cold calm sunny morning with the land covered in a fresh sheet of glistening white snow, the man she cherished with her whole heart, had finally left her side.
Her only company were the hard white walls.
Michael Wesley Zemanski, passed away a year ago today. I can not believe it has been a year, I still miss him so.
This poem or short story(which ever it may be) is in memory of him.