Hospice 

by Mary McCarthy

  

Your hands rest in mine 

Light and still warm 

Though blue nails insist 

We don’t have long 

All your attention on the fight 

For breath 

Each one a prize 

Won harder than the last 

Your hands so soft and light 

Knobbed and twisted 

And not much use 

Done after years 

Of endless work 

Resting, not rewarded 

Somehow reminding me 

Of the newborn’s first 

Blind movements 

The searching mouth 

The hands like starfish 

Opening 

Opening wide 

* * * * *

Mary McCarthy has always been a writer but spent most of her working life as a Registered Nurse. Her work has appeared in many print and online journals, including Third Wednesday, Earth's Daughters, the Ekphrastic Review, and Verse Virtual. Her electronic chapbook, Things I Was Told Not to Think About, is available as a free download from Praxis magazine.