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C Waits

C was a patient I visited as a hospice volunteer.

This poem is only published here.

lavender field at sunset
Photo by Artur Aldyrkhanov

C Waits

She tells me it's all she can do.

Hands worry the air, try

shedding the lavender sweater.

Her skin is so beautiful,

thin as a window

we open and clean for spring.


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