In the end, hands told the story

a common denominator among the dying

 

Some clenched in anger or pain or both

grasping sweat-soaked sheets on a rented hospital bed

that had taken over the room where family meals used to be shared

white gladiolas, long neglected, wilt in an empty vase

 

Some folded to accompany fervent prayers

offered by a minister speaking in thunderclaps and cloudbursts

as the faithful gathered with perfect posture to welcome the hereafter

a child, ignored, sleeps in a corner

 

Some reached out as if to delay the inevitable

begging for reprieve, an end to this suffering

immured in a place that reeked of antiseptic and rot

vials of medicine, insulin perhaps, untouched as morphine pumps whirl

 

Some were limp as if in acquiescence

relaxed as stories of days gone by were shared without regret

a last celebration of sorts, glasses of wine filled and refilled

containers of food from a favorite restaurant growing cold on the counter

 

Some were given to shake and tremble

the only obvious movement of a body in a seemingly endless slumber

an errant interruption of feigned peace on display by the light radiating from a single bulb

his slovenly dressed son rubs his scraggly beard and weeps

 

And she, as witness to final moments, embraced each one,

providing comfort and compassion and a hand to hold

 

photo: Pixabay

prompt: Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie Wordle #161