Mystic Ceremonies Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

John Shelley waited for me
in front of my period 7
Creative Writing class
and I knew
what he wanted
even before he spoke.
“I’ll drive you
again today, ” I said.
“I can’t bear
the bus ride home
after the hospital—
so much noise
confusion.”
“No problem.”
John Shelley stared
into my eyes
perhaps wanting a solution
to his agony—
not possible.
“It’s not her death, ”
he finally said,
“but the slow dying
I can’t endure
a hope turned to dust
then another glimmer
that soon gone too
feel so weak
my wife tries
to understand...
well
it’s my mother
and I’m an only child.”
Suddenly I heard a commotion in class
nodded to John
rushed inside
to see
16 year old Carrie Cook
belly bulging with child
holding her hand high
the diamond engagement
ring
sparkling
in the flickering fluorescent light
of motherhood.