White Knuckles

Vivid memory
Twenty-five years past
Her hands
Old, blotched, tired
Gripped the sheet metal
Chair below her

White knuckles
Held her fast
Unmoving, denying
Unwilling
To stand
Walk ten feet
Say goodbye
Her daughter
Youngest of seven
Gone before her

We waited
Silently
In pain, like her
Aunt, Daughter,
Sister, mother, friend
Pain no more
For her

Too soon
For us
Staring, waiting
Open sore
Frozen time
Clenched jaw
White knuckles

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edited January 21, 2016

White Knuckles – v2

http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2016/01/white-knuckles-v2.html

posted February 27, 2004

written 9/19/03 15:20

White Knuckles

http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2004/02/white-knuckles.html

About the funeral of my aunt, Susan Ring Davidson,

born April 1, 1948, died in September 1978, of cancer.

My grandmother could not get up.

Her youngest was not supposed to go first.

I was one of the pall bearers.

The words came back to me today,

hearing of the death of Sherrie Bettenhausen,

one of the other students in my Mediation class this summer.

Edited 9/19/03 17:15, at suggestion of Roberta Woods,

to add the line about being the youngest of seven.

All of my poems and photographs are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss (raymondafoss@gmail.com) for usage. See all 40,750+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.