Your dying on the 4th of July puzzled me,
that you would choose to exit on that day,
not being particularly patriotic as I recall.
You left me a long message the day before
more coherent than most, without the tell-tale
raspy voice of throat cancer? I thought
as we did all it was only emphysema.
One last task, perhaps the worst yet
to tell your old mother of your death.
What can I say to her? That you had
a good death considering your life?
Would that be rude? I’ve lost track
Of how to be human and what is right to
say in midst of so much daily pain.
I still wanted to tell you in person
my rehearsed speech after you accused me
of taking your wife off life support!
I imagine you would have laughed!
I do get comfort that you were found on
that long blue rug that I bought for you
which you rolled out to smoke each day.
Antonia Baranov
These two poems are deep and disturbing and obviously deeply felt. They feel so personal that it is hard to comment objectively: though there is much to admire poetically, that feels inadequate.
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