This poem was nominated for a Pushcart Prize

I hated watching your body deceive you, call it quits

way before the job was done. You made a swift

turn, from heavy and strong to weak and helpless.

I hated your worthless body.

I hated your tongue for showering profanity

on anyone who tried to help you. You said

things that would never spill from your healthy lips,

biting remarks which did not become you.

I hated pulling your pants up and down

like a yo-yo. I hated the repetitive

chore. I hated lifting you out of your

rolling chair and lowering your body gently

to a mobile pot.

I hated the new bed that held you. hostage,

trapped you in like an endangered animal.

You looked odd, your stout frame

settled into a metal trap with no escape.

I hated brushing your stained dentures

and replacing your hearing aid batteries.

I hated that future meals would be pureed,

soft and slick like slop.

I hated being your caretaker, when for fifty

years I had been your baby girl.

You once lifted me high in the palm of your hands,

and I was not afraid. But, I could not lift you up.

I hated being the one who watched

your blue eyes slide shut for the last time.

I hated holding your cold hand, the only

thing I could do to help you cross

the very last street.