Bill Galvin Poems

I like to drive from northern cold
In late winter or the early spring,
Down to warmer southern climes,
Where trees are already blossoming.
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Her tears were not all from physical discomfort.
Wicked ALS took away her ability to participate in life.
It was tough enough that she lost movement,
But then she lost speech…
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How easy it is today
To turn a positive into a negative.
I travel alone these days since Deb has passed.
I get upgraded to a suite with a jacuzzi.
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I realize I’m explaining myself
To somebody these days – not sure who.
I’ve always talked to myself
And had good rapport with that guy,
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I dreamed of you at dawn, my sweet;
Not uncommon for me to do.
When my early morning manhood
On this day arose to greet you,
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Three cups of coffee…
Not enough to make me leave;
Sitting here in loneliness,
On this trip to help me grieve.
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We've lost you…
Your pain too much to bear,
You had to go.
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Twelve months ago she began her courageous, singular, and lonely, journey.
Doctors advised that the ALS would be her eventual demise; and soon.
She numbly recalled the many battles she had won from within the clutches of Lupus over her last 35 years.
And how her whole adult life was mottled by crisis and trial as she fought damned Lupus and its many complications to a draw.
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I listen to her quiet rhythmic breathing
and dream longingly back to before she went ill.
The new meds help her sleep now
and her gentle sounds belie the fact
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As I travel this sentimental journey,
A dreaded date silently approaches;
Like an unwanted appointment,
The calendar quietly encroaches
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