In the biblical vapors
light appeared
and it was morning

and the time had come
to take me to
The Home For The Aged.

I had never seen
my poor wife so downcast
and quiet, her eyes

set where I was not,
her jaws clenched,
unnatural the whole house.

Thus we set out,
she driving,
I strapped in.

On the way
a familiar figure
joined us,

greeting me
as if I were
an old acquaintance.

I knew the face,
the eyes in particular,
unaccountably attendant,

(from somewhere)
but not the name
nor why he was there.

I'll call him
Shade, trustworthy
Shade, my he .

As I approached
his identity, however,
I lost my way

while they chatted
about nothing
out of the ordinary

as if to show
they were ingenuous,
not to worry, etc.

but I had no stomach
for such words
and it was lost on me

We were both aware now
of each other
without looking

when in that frame
I heard THE SCREAM
by Edvard Munch

but could not tell
from whose mouth
it was vomiting,

we were so close.

The next thing I knew
the talking had stopped.
We had reached

our destination,
The Home For The Aged
and a dead silence.

Reluctantly my poor wife
and the reliable Shade
carried my bags

into the vestibule,
I trailing behind
without a word.

We were now, I saw,
in the milieu
of very aged women

in the final
stages of disease
and infirmity.

They were walking
slowly,
step by step,

uncertain, hesitant,
to and from
their rooms.
" Femme je suis,
pauvre et ancienne. "

My wife of many years
just stood with Shade
and looked on,

not knowing what to say,
the physical sight
was so overpowering.

For the first time
I was alone
with my fate

and fell inward
to the center,
where it was stark

and utter, locked in,
my eyes distraught
and lost.

My body remained
through all this
tall and straight,

however, towering,
it seemed to me,
over the little

white-haired ladies
as if asserting
my eternal distinction.

At that moment
three very frail women,
better dressed

than the others,
appeared, limping
slowly towards me

from the dining room,
absorbed in talking.
I saw only the smaller

of the three. Goodness
like a philosopher's stone
irradiated the air

around her, her demeanor
kind and gentle,
what I imagine as Hebraic,

but in the exquisite
proportion of qualities,
the exquisite reserve,

she was a lady
from a far countree
(probably North)

with delicate white hair.

As she approached,
she looked up
and our eyes met

and I felt good
in her presence.
Walking over,

I greeted her
as a kindred spirit
and with a gallant

but restrained gesture
I bent over
as if to help her.

Smiling softly
she acknowledged this
and walked on.

By God, I thought,
I'm going to make it
But it was not so.