Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

Doctor X Meets Her Match
by Sheila A. Murphy
 

You know youíre dying? she asks,
as if her laptop, opened like a shield,
werenít full of data about this white-hair.

Yes. And you are too, Auntie retorts,
Iíve already told everyone:
No surgery. No chemo. No tubes.

I watched my mother and her sisters
waste away in nursing homes, senile,
bedridden. I donít want that.

Iíve had a full life.
I believe in God.
Iím ready.

How much money do you have?

the white-coat blurts on, as if
Auntie would tell the likes of her

the will she made to leave her home
to one niece, its contents to the other,
and whatever is left to her sister

who, with a phalanx of beloved relatives
and more friends than Doctor X deserves,
will miss and treasure her as long as they live.

Ever smart, ever learning, now she is teaching
her sister and nieces, cousins and friends
how to die.



Copyright © 2019 by Sheila A. Murphy.