the last days

i can barely take a second more
the ticking of the clock
the dripping of the leaky faucet
the struggle of his every breath

every second seems longer than the last

*breathe in*
tick...tock...
*and out*

i can't believe that this lifeless body is him
he simply can't be there anymore
he wouldn't have fought this hard
my grandpa wasn't a fighter
he was the kindest man i ever knew

*breathe in*
drip...drop...drip
*and out*

i start to dream of where he must be now
of islands and leis and coconut milk
with a beer in his hand
and his twerp at his side
they're dancing to the playful melody of steel drums and ukeleles

*breathe in*
tick...tock...tick...tock*
*and out*

i never did get that pet name of her's.
what does "twerp" mean anyway?
was it because grandma is so short?
grandma doesn't remember.
it's too late to ask him.

*breathe in*
drip...drop...drip...
tick...tock


...he didn't breathe out



is this the end?



...*breathe in*
tick...tock...tick...tock
drip...drop...drip


with every breath now we stare.
is this the last?
what about this one?
the constant rhythm of the breath and the clock and the faucet,
it's now not so constant.


time of death: 7:45am


quietly in the stillness of the morning
i hear grandpa say to me
"breathe in"