Homeless

The rasp in her breath
and her grey, gaunt face
were unreal,
she lay in that mechanized bed
polypropylene puppet-strings deciding her fate
and creating for me, the son
a mockery of mother,
a cruel joke played by a god whom I could no longer believe in

“Please,” she asked, “just make it end,”
and I knew what she wanted
scratch that
needed me to do

There was a pillow in my hands
my shaking hands,
pumps pumped and machines beeped in their rhythmic way

Time was a creation of man
I knew that,
but it ceased to exist
not stop, but exist
and any movements I made were in motion slow
as if underwater

The antiseptic smell stung me
punctuated things
coloured them sharply
but still nothing seemed real

I lifted the pillow
her eyes tied to mine, pleading
not afraid
ready for release

Weeping, these words came out of me
as darkness descended
and time started to move again, but not as before,
I can’t,
I can’t,
I can’t
I cried
and it was over
and the nurse came and told me to go home,
but I have no home now
nothing can give me that warmth ever again.