A Tanka Prose
No one could stop 90-year-old Sam from seeing his dying wife, Jo, one final time. His eyes were fixed on her pale face for hours, their fingers interlocked. The virus claimed her life one day after his visit. And a week later, Sam followed her into everlasting rest.
Surrounded by jostling reporters and photographers, Sam's eldest son tried hard to answer a reporter's question in a steady voice, Your mother is my love. I don't regret it for one second. I say... I say goodbye and hold her hands for one more time. These... these are my father's last words.
added to the heat map
I remember last summer
the blue expanse in her eyes
Saturday, April 17, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: virus,disaster,illness,death,relationship