{"id":194,"date":"2013-02-24T15:04:44","date_gmt":"2013-02-24T19:34:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.barbarabald.com\/?page_id=194"},"modified":"2013-02-24T15:17:19","modified_gmt":"2013-02-24T19:47:19","slug":"sample-poems","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.barbarabald.com\/?page_id=194","title":{"rendered":"Sample poems"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Couple<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They no longer speak in words\u2014<\/p>\n

it is impossible to hear her whisper<\/p>\n

and frail neck muscles make it hard for her<\/p>\n

to lift her head.<\/p>\n

I do not know if he ever holds her or<\/p>\n

if they even live in the same room.<\/p>\n

But I have seen them knee-to knee, holding hands<\/p>\n

across their wheelchairs.<\/p>\n

I have caught the quiet secret in their eyes<\/p>\n

when an orderly delivers flowers to her lap<\/p>\n

and reads the gift card that bears his name.<\/p>\n

My eyes have heard them talking.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Grounded<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My best friend is grounded,<\/p>\n

not because she has done anything wrong, rather\u2014<\/p>\n

each time I put on boots, coat and gloves,<\/p>\n

I am the guilty one,<\/p>\n

the decision-maker, imposer of limits.<\/p>\n

Each time I head out the door without her,<\/p>\n

I am the scoundrel cheating on her<\/p>\n

like a callous lover.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My best friend is housebound because she is old,<\/p>\n

because there is no clear winter ground,<\/p>\n

only deep snow banks she can no longer climb,<\/p>\n

trails that take their toll on arthritic joints,<\/p>\n

depths that strain a willing heart,<\/p>\n

turning a joyful bark into a wheeze.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Each winter I have watched her faculties decline,<\/p>\n

seen her horizons diminish,<\/p>\n

so very like those of Nellie at the nursing home,<\/p>\n

her eyes too blurry to read,<\/p>\n

knotted fingers too crooked to write,<\/p>\n

knees too weak to offer balance.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Can\u2019t react fast enough?<\/p>\n

surrender the car keys.<\/p>\n

Leave the toaster on?<\/p>\n

relinquish the house.<\/p>\n

Forget a daughter\u2019s name?<\/p>\n

forfeit choice.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Every day I enter my living room,<\/p>\n

decide what\u2019s for dinner or read a paper;<\/p>\n

each time I tramp down a snow bank<\/p>\n

or head toward town,<\/p>\n

I am the deceitful offender.<\/p>\n

I am the blind charlatan\u2014<\/p>\n

headed toward my own grounding.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Privilege<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pamela is painting a flower this morning.<\/p>\n

Arthritic fingers dip delicately<\/p>\n

into reds, greens and blues\u2014<\/p>\n

sliding across slick white paper that might have been<\/p>\n

like paper once used at the butcher shop, where<\/p>\n

her mother sent her for a pound of kielbasa.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She gingerly dabs each finger into a different color,<\/p>\n

barely remembering times<\/p>\n

when she plopped young willing hands<\/p>\n

into its delicious squishiness.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I help her place a rigid thumb to paper<\/p>\n

to form petals of a blossom, dragging it slowly<\/p>\n

down<\/p>\n

the page<\/p>\n

to make<\/p>\n

a stem.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Aged-spotted and wrinkled, these hands<\/p>\n

once diapered squirming babies,<\/p>\n

molded cookie dough for Christmas snacks<\/p>\n

typed letters to soldiers on the frontline<\/p>\n

and folded in prayer for a less fortunate\u00a0 neighbor.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today I hold her still wedding-banded hand,<\/p>\n

nails neatly clipped, above a tub of warm water.<\/p>\n

Noticing thin-skinned palms, veins showing<\/p>\n

like tiny rivulets under newly formed ice,<\/p>\n

I swab each frail finger with a wet towelette<\/p>\n

to remove stubborn paint.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cupping her hand in mine, I wash as if<\/p>\n

I am John the Baptist<\/p>\n

bathing the Master\u2019s feet.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Couple   They no longer speak in words\u2014 it is impossible to hear her whisper and frail neck muscles make it hard for her to lift her head. I do not know if he ever holds her or if they even live in the same room. But I have seen them knee-to knee, holding … <\/p>\n

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