Daybreak until nightfall,
he sat by his wife at the hospital
while chemotherapy dripped
through the catheter into her heart.
He drank coffee and read
the Globe. He paced; he worked
on poems; he rubbed her back
and read aloud. Overcome with dread,
they wept and affirmed
their love for each other, witlessly,
over and over again.
When it snowed one morning Jane gazed
at the darkness blurred
with flakes. They pushed the IV pump
which she called Igor
slowly past the nurses' pods, as far
as the outside door
so that she could smell the snowy air.
He recalls the days of his wife's final illness, dying of cancer. Jane, his former student, was his lost love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
They pushed the IV pump which she called Igor slowly past the nurses' pods, as far as the outside door so that she could smell the snowy air. illness and dying of cancer...... so many among us experience it.. tony