Laura Davies Foley: "Sophie"

I need to go to the bathroom. Help me!

Sophie cries, her bent body tense,

contorted like a fist beneath the sheets.

I find a nurse in the hallway.

Sophie just went, she says, exasperated,

vanishing into someone else's room.

I return, tell the patient to relax, lie back.

Now she's calling for Arthur.

My son! I need him! I am dying.

Maybe he'll be here soon, I say,

and: It's okay to be alone.

Then I place my hand beneath hers

and she grips it tightly, releases, grips, releases,

her hand pulsing in mine like a heartbeat.

Finally, she sleeps.

The next day when I enter, I see her

seeing me, her transforming smile.

I sit holding her hand, she, holding mine.

"Sophie" by Laura Davies Foley, from The Glass Tree. © Harbor Mountain Press, 2012. Presented here by poet submission. (Congratulations to Laura on the July publication of Joy Street, out from Headmistress Press.)

Art credit: "Holding an Elderly Woman's Hand," photograph by Sarah Broadmeadow-Thomas (originally color).