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!)”
Beautiful. So quiet and stark yet tender.
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Thank you.
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Loss at words…this is more than a mere wonderful or beautiful or anything else
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Thank you, Sangbad.
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Welcome…hope you will like mine also
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I’ll go read 🙂
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leaves waltzing and a tangent sweet smell: lovely images!
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I remember that day, for my own father, 10 years ago last month. This is tender and moving ~
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Thank you. I hope your memories are peaceful.
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Lost mine in november. still so raw. Love your inclusion of science, and science fiction. you know what Feynman wrote to his wife, after she was gone? https://erbiage.wordpress.com/2019/03/01/richard-feynman/ Love is the only answer…
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Thank you: he was the source of my love for SF. My condolences, too. May you have warm memories to ease your grief.
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Lovely and true, Nora.
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Thank you, Judy.
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This brings back so many memories — what a beautiful tribute.
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Thank you, Shannon.
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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.
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Thank you. We are getting close to six years now – time and space enough for this poem to emerge.
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“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.
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[the opposite]
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Thank you. I firmly believe that a gentle death is a blessing.
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Sad, yet wonderful. Congratulations on being selected for NaPoWriMo.
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Thank you on both counts.
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Such a beautiful tribute. The way you melded the stars, space and beyond with your father’s passing is so well done and touching.
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Thank you. It is a small thank you for introducing me to some of my literary and science loves.
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Boldly gone. What a beautifully tender, moving ending. It’s a beautiful tribute.
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Thank you Shuku.
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That sudden stillness. Yes, to the stars. (K)
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Thank you, Kerfe.
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A remembrance spoken with love. The slowing of the breathe and the letting go both seemed cherished even though sadness filled the room. Thank you for sharing.
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A beautiful tribute and the light and barrenness of grief.
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