Visitation

the aged gather
in nursing homes
and hospitals
or quaint frame houses
with roomfuls of
lightly cobwebbed bric-a-brac
the aged gather
around railed bedsides and
discreetly beeping
softly soughing devices
or in tiny chapels
with pine pews
and inspirational Muzak
the aged gather
like mannerly crows
bearing dishes
of covered comfort
discussing
with mundane passion
the weather report
of recent passings
who took a fall
or who had the cancer
who threw a clot
and who just faded away
on the wispy withered wings
of an eternal
interminable moment
it may be the ultimate
mark of maturity:
the old do not fear death
the reaper is a frequent
familiar visitor
slightly unwelcome
but part of the extended family
like the alcoholic brother-in-law
an annoying
but expected presence
at every gathering
often the first to arrive
and sometimes
the last to leave

Copyright © 2006 by Lane Adamson

The Cancer

I had this thing, this tumor
this punishment from God
wild cells raging within me
a malignant demon
grown fat and swollen
with all my sins

why me, oh Lord, why me?
was I so wicked, so inadequate
so fallen from Thy grace
that You set this plague upon me

to restore my faith in prayer?
to remind me Who's in charge?

well, it worked

the doctors got It out of me
and I keep It in a pastel room
down the hall, out of sight
out of my mind
tonight I will send It back to You

I will bash Its head with stones
smother It with pillows
drown It in holy water
and cut It into bite-size pieces
to feed to my obsession

then I will ask for Your forgiveness
because that's what mothers do

Copyright © 2006 by Lane Adamson