It’s barely the beginning of spring;
it’s supposed to mean new life.
That’s not what I saw
when I went to visit her;
her face was pale, her eyes closed.
She tried to smile, barely doing so;
trying to talk was painful.
She’d had two heart attacks in a row.
I asked her to just listen if she could.
Death shrouded her like a hot summer night.
I couldn’t stand seeing her that way;
I saw myself in her; I broke down in tears.
She’d had two heart attacks, one after the other.
When I contained my tears, I held her swollen hands,
and told her not to speak, that we were there with her.
She’d felt unloved, abandoned, her spirits broken.
She seemed to respond to our presence,
to our sincere words of encouragement.
There’s still hope at new and renewed life.
R. I. P.
Copyright@2016 Martina R. Gallegos