there are dates
one remembers
etched in one’s consciousness
numbers in stone
and this date
in January
I will never forget
Mercy Hospital
the doctors the nurses
you shivering
a door closing
and crying in Dr. Tassey’s arms
the calls to my sister Theresa
my brother Johnny
and George in my doorway
at two in the morning
our tears our tears
and you gone
leaving this emptiness
in my heart
mother
in my dream: my mother
there you were
in my dream
as young as you were
when I was a kid
and you said
you were letting the past
go
but I could not
release it
I reminded you
of that Chinese restaurant
you always took me to
on our yearly pilgrimage
to Macys
during holiday season
then you smiled
as you faded from view
and my eyes
turned to liquid
and my heart
melted away
stumbling to the end of the month: January and my mother
there are some things
one cannot write about
adequately
words just won’t do
to express
what is in the heart
and January
always eludes me
as I stumble my way
to the end
of the month
remembering you
the hospital
you
for mother on Mother’s Day
your imprint
forever
on my heart
remembering my mother on the anniversary of her death
there
in the ER
you shivering
that thin blanket
they could spare
covering you
no matter how much
my voice pleaded
5 hours passed
before your doctor came
and they wheeled you
behind closed doors
to die unseen
by me
your wedding ring
still clutched
in my hand
where you insisted
I take it
and tears
still cloud my eyes
remembering
Leonard Durso 