The Visit

I’ve had three close friends—

John, Alan, and Ghita

who are no longer alive

and now such friendships won’t

come to me again, which I don’t

mind, but I can tell you that

I was too many miles away to hear

John’s last hours of speaking

or to attend his funeral. But yes,

each day I wheeled Ghita where

she could smoke, in the gazebo, but

then she weakened and lost consciousness.

Then later at the hospice where Alan

was spending his last days, I came

to his room, sat at his bedside,

and talked softly into his easy

silence. I told him the times

I’d spent with him were among

the happiest of my life, and

I talked with him about John

and Ghita who’d been his friends,

too, but then I saw Alan’s breathing

going slower and slower, so I raised

my eyes and looked across his bedside

and out the window to watch the sparrows

and finches in sunlight at their feeder.

The silence went on for what seemed long hours,

but I knew that wasn’t it: I was being

allowed to see the chamber I would enter soon,

and though I was in no hurry about it,

I was nevertheless glad to know such

light and stillness existed and would

wait for me.