Poem by Will Schmit : Appointment Books Fail to Guarantee

Bed, Room, Interior, Window, Office

Appointment Books Fail to Guarantee

The morning’s cold begs foot warmth to cover
it, to cover it all before working, before walking
to dance in a slivered light from bleak curtains
and the music of a missing breath.

The hospice news a day late, a day too
early leaves the phone cord a dangle
the air precious, precise, and rare.
The name sounded. Alone.

Cancer ends the night alike
dawn a mere golden gray
a gown of clouds lifts aloud
a silent forever rest.

In the wake of peace; mass
shootings, virus spikes, rocket bombs,
twisted cars and falling cliffs
this body in bed blessed.

The break is fast once the wait
lessens. The telling and retelling
pace the hall, just outside
the door, is another

as if every day has a mother
and every mother a day
with her own. A day with
and this day without. 


 Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Will Schmit

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

1 comment

  1. A sad poem filled with a lot of truth. It brought back memories of when my mother died. The wait is so painful because you know the cancer is stealing so much from them.

    Like

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