Kathy Fagan

Hospice

The oxygen is louder than you think breath should be.

And the figure on the bed appears more and less

Like themself, as those hovering near urge upon 

The dying one both more life and easeful passage,

Slipping into past tense as they speak, trying

On loss like a parent’s shoes. While the parent, without

Need of shoes, might say if they spoke, Keep them,

They fit you well.

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