The strident metronomic tick of the old
clock's pendulum sifts through the room
as you replace the telephone receiver from
an incoming call via cellphone from a distant
hospital to hear a familiar voice telling you
her breathing has become shallow and laboured
a sign the end is near and your sister dying
for there was no hope when the second
stroke arrived and her brain bled without
surcease. In a coma, she hung on for days
life slowly draining leaving not even the
barest awareness of time and place or a
farewell sigh. Over a decade younger than
you, long years had gone by estranged. Her
husband mourning at her last bedside recalling
that which cannot be and will never be again
and you mourn at your distance for what
might have been but was not destined.
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