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POEM
The weight of love

David Trembley

Seven years flat on his back in bed
    Bob’s body, she says, is turning to stone
She suctions him as often as twelve times a day
    resorting, here near the end, to stratagems:
    hose behind her back
        hard rubber block for his mouth
        All he can do is clamp down hard

For the past five years Bob’s bed has been in the living room
    where precious little living has transpired
    Before all this he wielded tubes of his own:
        anesthesiologist in the hospital
        saxophone in Saturday-night pick-up bands

He used to talk so sweet, Lucille says
    to the background noise of his groaning
how mellow his voice once was, she remembers,
    while rushing to suction once more

It’s been three years since anyone else could understand him
It may be my imagination, she confesses
    but I think I am tuned to the nuances of his groans

Two Sundays ago Bob aspirated a tooth
When he arose from the anesthesia
    she was in another room
    He flailed his arms frantically
    She came rushing in

    It’s okay, honey. Everything is going to be all right
    Lucille always told the truth. Bob settled down

    And down
    And farther away
    And finally gone

At his funeral, Lucille reminds everyone who will listen
The only problem Bob will have in heaven, she says
    is needing some help with his crown
    There’ll be so many jewels, she tells us
    he won’t be able to hold up his head

We who have been watching sense another problem
When Lucille herself gets to heaven
    the angels will groan as they bring her more jewels
    and Bob will come rushing to help carry her crown

David Trembley lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

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Last modified June 27, 2000.

© 2000 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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