Tag Archives: ragged breathing

End

Kevin Davis.jpg

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

His breathing
became ragged.

It was a rainy day.
At 6:00 p.m.
he passed away.

I was with him,
finally alone,
all afternoon.
I told him I was sorry
he had to endure
this ending.

A woman doctor
came up from
a different floor
to say to me
that when we die,
we choose the people
we want to be with.

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

In the Night

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I wanted to gather you
up in my arms,
like a mother
gathers her young,
and bring you back
to New Mexico—
a place you once loved.

I wanted to take
you away
from the suffocating people
in that room
so I could listen,
alone,
to your ragged
breathing.

A gift
in the night.

© copyright 2011 White Ermine Across Her Shoulders

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry