There Comes a Time

I don’t want to come with you
to discuss options and operations,
be moved into a home, too frail to live alone,
waiting for visits, while everything hurts
and all I want to do is leave.
I don’t want needles full of miracle drugs
machines shifting my blood – eternal life.
There comes a time to let go.
I don’t want death to have to wrestle
his way through tubes and pills,
and defeated, leave.
I don’t want my mind to loosen,
to forget love, turn away when you kiss me.
I don’t want to come with you
to clinics and discussions
and power of attorney forms.
I want to stay here in my own chair
say yes to death when he calls
come with me.



Published on postcard by Poetry on Loan