Monday, February 8, 2016
Take up the cards, shuffle the deck.
They say seven times does the job.
Lay them out, first card face up, then 2 through 7.
Second card face up, 3 through 7 . .
A game of form, a game of chance.
Work the game - ace on top, turn the card below.
Black 3 under Red 4.
Black 7 under Red 8.
Move the king to the empty space.
Game after game, some you win, most you lose.
It doesn’t matter which.
He’s just a baby.
Shuffle the deck.
I wish I could help.
Count out three, turn over to see.
Here’s my daughter coming through the door.
“The doctors don’t know.”
“How is he?”
“No change. He gripped my finger while I held his hand.”
“If I didn’t have this cold . . ”
“At least you were there when he was awake. Now he just sleeps.”
Back to the cards.
Feel the sleekness, shuffle the deck.
Count them out, turn them over.
Choose one, reject another.
Red Jack under Black Queen.
Ace Of Spades up on top.
2 Of Spades on the ace.
Doesn’t mean a thing.
Can’t read a book - same sentence over and over.
Won’t watch TV - too much noise.
Don’t feel like talking, or sleeping, or walking.
5, 6, 7
Red 10 under Black Jack,
Black 5 under Red 6.
Count out three, turn them over.
Play the game and wait.
Wait, till my grandson comes home.
Posted by Karen Gough at 4:43 PM
Labels: baby, cards, child, children, doctor's, feeling helpless, grandparents, grief, hospital, loss, sad, sadness, Solitaire, useless, waiting game
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Knowing where this comes from, I know it was hard to write. So many meanings. Perfect title. Nice.
Thanks Janis. Sometimes I just need to write this stuff.
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