Grandmother: Crossing Jordan

Rippling hospital sheets

circle your brown body

and you sink

for the third time,

ready to rise alone

on the other side.

I reach out for you

and pull and pull

until your skin tears

from the bones of elbow,

arm, wrist, and fingers.

How it hangs empty,

loose. A glove

too large

for my hand.

Notes:

This poem was previously published in Love’s Instruments (Tia Chucha Press, 1995) and is part of the portfolio “Melvin Dixon: I’ll Be Somewhere Listening for My Name.” © Melvin Dixon and used with permission of the author’s estate. You can read the rest of the portfolio in the April 2024 issue.

Source: Poetry (April 2024)