Lingering Love and other poems

I've been reading the Smithsonian magazine lately, which is not really my style but I get them free from my Mother and they pass the time in the morning before work. I read an article about the son of General George S. Patton (who was, himself, an accomplished General) and was inspired to write the following:


General George S. Patton, JR

famous son – famous father
graduated with a handshake
from the famous institution
his mentor – his father’s teacher
gifted him these words

you’ll never be the man your father was
an insult – a compliment
under the familiar shadow
only his family can say for sure

as he spends his time – not with troops
or Generals but – by his family’s side
sailing on the weekends when
real men prove their strength

ltv


Mostly this Summer I have been avoiding working on the novel. I've had incredible vivid, action-packed dreams, which take me to some far-out places, but do not offer much in the way of a futuristic pirate story. (But, if I ever want to write about Siberian tigers on ice with Great White sharks swimming below and Olympic skaters performing for a dictator -- I have just the thing!) Recently, I started an email communication with a female police officer (sounds way more exciting than it is -- or maybe not) and a story she told me lead me to write the following poem. The poem itself doesn't actually reflect the story she told me -- one thing just lead to another.


Lingering Love

my arm was cradled under
his sweating neck
not wanting to disturb
his already troubled sleep
I reached with my left hand
as far as I could towards the
chrome and wood veneer bedside table

the bleach-white washcloth lay crumpled
where it had been dropped last
I managed to snag it with the nail
of my middle finger and drag it --
grudgingly – towards us

the cup of ice water was always close
I dipped the corner of the cloth
into the goldenrod heavy plastic cup,
squeeze it back into itself to spread the chill,
and dab it gently on his pale forehead

a fitful sigh is my reward – proof of life
I continue to caress his unwrinkled face
looking for signs of pink returning
casually checking the monitor’s rhythmic beeping

every few hours the numbers slowly decrease
just enough to go unnoticed by the nursing staff
until rounds – when the doctors crowd into the room
rattling off vitals, lab results, diagnoses and
a myriad of teaching moments only
a terminal middle-aged patient can offer

ltv

Perhaps the Universe just wanted me to write a few poems before continuing on the novel. Maybe editing chapters 1-12 (based on my friend -- A -- giving some awesome feedback) and reprinting the 86 pages I have so far (thank you, OCD) was the reason. Maybe it was something else entirely. In any case, I am typing up Chapter 13 today and will hopefully finish it up this week. Here's hoping I have this book finished before I turn 50!