When my grandmother on my father's side was dying, she lay on her back, made rasping sounds. I was a child and I tiptoed in and out of the room. Her children and older grandchildren sat there and waited. None of my uncles nor my older cousins nor my parents spoke to me and not to each other either, not without whispering from their seats. I went down into the street seeking a familiar face that would address me and to which at age four I could reply in that same open and friendly way. Today I bend over my wife's bed to talk to her in low, gentle tones to soothe her pregnancy and say gladly that our newborn will turn our fear into a living problem to cope with. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR CAMP; IN THE AUTUMN WOODS by ROBERT FROST LOVE'S TENDRILS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MOTHER NIGHT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO CARMEN SYLVA (QUEEN OF ROUMANIA) by EMMA LAZARUS THE ARABIAN SHAWL by KATHERINE MANSFIELD WINTER SONG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |