The touch of

a nitrile-gloved blue hand

wiping my feverish brow

with the soft cloth,

the smile.

Hers the last

face I saw except for

my kin, tearful, bereft,

on Zoom

—that was hard.

 

I didn’t want them to know

I was ready,

the body

had been telling me

it’s time and there was so

little breath anyway, and

it was strangely okay

not to have

loved ones around

clinging to the life

that I was letting go of.

 

The nurse knew this place,

knew the map

of the transition,

and we said a clean goodbye

with our eyes.