Red Giant


Red Giant

We ask the nurse to turn off the monitors.
With no more numbers to watch, we watch
your breath.  With alarms silenced,
we listen to each other breathe.  We hold
your hands.  We wait.

My brother murmurs a blessing.  In the long cold night,
the quiet expanse where gravity steps silent,
I whispered my gratitude
for Asimov and Heinlein
for chaos fractally expanding
for Hawking
for Feynman
for black holes and the edge of time
where burst stars boldly go.

Each pause between the rise and fall
grows longer, your chest diminished, your flush fading
to waxen yellow, the infection burns hotter,
shining ultrasonic waves,
and you do not. Every two hours, nurses turn you,
but your revolution has slowed, spirals down.
They’ve not come now, twice.

To the stars beyond, Father. Blaze your comet
trail incandescent dust and red fire,
boldly gone.

Glo/NaPoWriMo Day Three: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to similarly write something that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time. Perhaps, as you do, you can focus on imagery, or sound, or emotional content (or all three!)”

32 thoughts on “Red Giant

  1. Pingback: Day Four
  2. There are no words for how much I love this. The way you switch between “present” with him and “elsewhere” with science and the science-fiction, and how well blended they are. This was beautiful.
    I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t know how long ago it was, but I know the pain never leaves. Fortunately neither do the memories.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. “Do not go gentle into that brave night.” Thank you for making tfecopposite if that palpable. What parent doesn’t wish for such a remembrance. Bravo.

    Liked by 2 people

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