Voices on the Wind Voices on Waiting
Someone’s got a hold of my heart by Mark Vogel What was long unspoken grows at this momentous time as a dwindling family sits on hard chairs, busy with electronics like William Gibson clones in touch with individual knowledge while new-fashioned futures loom— as we wait for the latest death. Accustomed to inevitable ends, we occasionally share pictures and family jokes, and kill boredom with games and clamoring news snippets on repeat. Before us a bulletin board is flush with birthday cards, photos of familiar children and dogs puzzled at being dogs. So rich the voluntary propaganda— pretending lives continue, for we are sure that digital devices shield us from a catheter tube snaking from mother’s blanket, showing orange yellow urine inching at a glacial pace to the plastic bag on the floor— essence to be watched/avoided leaking from this statue breathing steady slow, stubbornly here still for these eight days despite assured hospice predictions. Because she no longer eats and drinks, no longer talks, each of us has stood close, giving her permission to go. Buoyed this morning at imminent change, we laugh at her persistence— and thank her for the lack of pain, for this time together, to prepare, for allowing this inspection of her ninety-five years, though again we are still small children, unsure what lies ahead.