Hospice
It’s nothing I can talk about, June—
I don’t even know how to be here.
I sat once with a friend who was giving
birth. That I could do, but you:
I can wash your floor, but I’m no good
at pushing you to heaven.
Let me try, though, June. Listen,
there are 16 hushed angels
at the edge of the bed, and listen,
June, they are hugging quite happily
and humming an ethereal anthem.
I’m not making any of this up.
Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy
are here, too, as well as the winner
of the 6th Annual Spelling Contest
who crowned you the 7th. He passed
on in Viet Nam, 34 years ago this month,
remember?
He is kneeling here by your elbow
and grinning your favorite winning words—
“grandeur” and “halcyon.” How did you
know the letters in “halcyon” back then,
June, without knowing the definition:
tranquil?
I am counting 7 leprechauns all
with bunches of 4-leaf clovers ready
to stuff in your hands. It will be
a blast, I can see right now.
[This poem was included in the 2008 Wisconsin Poets Calendar.]
About the Author: Jean Biegun began writing poetry back in 2000 as a way to overcome big-city job stress, and it worked. Poems have been published in Mobius: The Poetry Magazine, After Hours: A Journal of Chicago Writing and Art, World Haiku Review, Blue Heron Review, Goose River Anthology and many other places.
Image Credit: Simon Alexandre Clément Denis “Study of Clouds with a Sunset near Rome” (1786) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.
As It Ought To Be 