2005-01-22: 1:31 p.m.

Citrus Tears

Drum rolls and cotton gray menace overhead,
Obstructing the early morning sun.

The sixth day of May with candles,
And sticky rich chocolate cake.

Sweet oranges on the basket with a bow.
Grandpa was frail, trapped by white walls.

Hold on, don’t let go of my hand.
I’m here for you, don’t let go...

Watching in fear as his heartbeat faltered,
My every word willed him to live.

Jagged teeth collapsed into a fine, green line,
Like the branching rivulets on his arm.

Sweet oranges on the basket with a bow,
Offered to the ants beside the cold concrete.