Statistics*

A shadowy figure
waits silently for its cue,
unseen, yet expected
invisible yet perceptible,
discernible yet unacknowledged
by the caregivers
in the room.

Once the inevitable visitation is over,
they breathe a sigh of relief,
not realizing that the specter
does not abandon the room altogether.

No.

Their being there, their caring and caretaking
has shortened the time
the specter must wait
to come
for them.

*This poem is my response to reading that "the stress of being a caregiver will shorten the lifespan by 10 years."

Ode to Early October

It is early October.
The days are shorter
but the temperature still hovers
around 85.

The leaves on the trees
are a sad and pathetic green
although some that are khaki or sepia
have fallen, exhausted, to the ground.

Will we see color this year?
Will we feel the crispness of Autumn,
greeting us every morning--
and nature's fiery earnestnes
propelling us, strengthened,
towards winter?