Let me die beside you
in your yellow morphine-silence
while I bear these wintry thoughts-

The puttings-on of daily camouflage
that yields me sunless where your cheek
will no longer be warmed, your damp lily skin.

I’ll brew my mountain tea
serve the eggs over easy with hushed screams
on Sunday mornings. The vigilant walker

is slinking in, light beneath a doorway.
Soon your lids will kiss the shade
of lashes to lashes forever shut.

I am the last who’ll cradle your palms
before you’re free like a happy magpie.
So listen my lovely while I recite

our secret tales in your unhearing ear.
The very stories you shared with me
when evenings heard the olive trees

arms extended rattling my only window.
This hospice space, this sickly mattress cries
for a rock-a-bye bounce, to sing the songs

of blackbirds to impede your runaway tears.
No one will disrupt our sacred soiree
and you will teach me how to reach

the end of time, as I hold my baton
in the violet sky.
Carol Lynn Grellas
Carol Lynn Grellas is a Northern California-based writer, where she attended Santa Clara University as an English major. She
is the author of two Chapbooks: "Litany of Finger Prayers", soon to be released from Pudding House Press and "Object of
Desire", forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. She has been widely published in magazines and online journals, including
most recently,
MSU Great Falls Literary Guild: Writings from the River, The Storyteller Magazine, Chanterelle's Notebook, The Hiss
and Flutter. She has published one full length collection of poems titled, "I’m Packing Things for Heaven".   Carol Lynn
lives with her husband, five children and a blind dog named Ginger, who inspire much of her poetry.  
Shadow Puppet

I thought you should know,
what is was like to be alone without you.

How there was no one there to rub my back
or breathe soft words down the nape of my neck

like the wind blowing pollen across a verdant meadow.
Every noise beyond midnight became enormous, until

I was sure an ogre roamed the hallways in your absence.
Silence disturbed me at 3:00 am, while I woke to a snoreless quiet.

Half the bedclothes remained frozen and pulled back
just as you’d left them, in a sad but orderly kind of way.

When the alarm broke, the whole room quivered
and you weren’t there beckoning me close for one

last nuzzle before taking on the day. When I stood
near the window, in my lace gown with veils of light

behind my silhouette and wafts of air turning the hem,
no one ogled, telling me how beautiful I was.
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