We come to listen, to sit with him in the room
where he has chosen to die. Hospital bed
slanted toward a tile fireplace, windowpane
above terraced garden, there he waits. Flecks
particle the light. Two friends tune, twist
the smooth pegs of their violins—strains
of strings, a final gift. His wife brings
Darjeeling, glazed pecans, pushes her chair
bedside. He feasts on the sweet long pulls
of tilted bows as her fingers map his hand’s
large bones, knead the palm. In the scrape
of horsehair on steel, a flood tide climbs,
vibrates, sinks. Silence swells. We draw
our breath, small waves sliding to shore.
–
Annette Sisson’s poems appear in The Penn Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Rust & Moth, Cider Press Review, and other journals and anthologies. Her second book, Winter Sharp with Apples, was published by Terrapin Books in 2024, and her third book manuscript, Rhizomes and Bones, is currently seeking a publisher.