by Nolcha Fox
I sit beside her, monitor beeps smother the hush. My tears raindrops run cold between intertwined fingers. Her eyes draw me closer. I drown in the sweet sour breeze of her breath, ragged, then halted, then sputtering again. “Do you see him, the angel?” she squeezes my hand. “He’s bringing me home.” It’s the blur of my weeping that turns the walls blue, the ache of my body that tingles me warm. It’s the voice in my ear “She’s gone, let her go.” My sleeve wipes my eyes, a smile on her face. A doctor is beaming, he hands me a feather, “I think this is yours.” I blink, and he’s gone.
Nolcha Fox has written all her life, starting with poop and crayons on the walls. Her poems have been published in WyoPoets News, Duck Head Journal, Ancient Paths, Dark Entries, The Red Lemon Review, Agape Review, Bullshit Literary Magazine, Storyteller’s Refrain, Wilder Literature, Paddler Press, the 2022 WyoPoets chapbook Emergence, Gone Lawn, and Levatio’s first issue Serenity.
One thought on “At Her Bedside”
This one took my breath away!