Trekking the road to house of aged, those
grown feeble, fatuous to outside world.
I come as servant to bring that which is
longed for to nourish souls that thirst.
Room gets filled with hum of tasks.
one by one, they come in wheels, cane.
Lucky those who ambulate, smell of soap
still on them as others scream at bath.
Such rigors withered leaves daily face.
Who knows who’ll be gone tomorrow?
Squirmed not limbs, eyes emptied of tears,
just waiting, waiting for end.
Can hope arise when one comes,
chalice in hand with bread of life
to feed, satiates hungry souls
caged in this house of horror?
A patient lifts finger to point mouth,
hungry for tiny piece of manna that,
concentrated, transformed into body
of one come to mend broken selves.
He wants, I say, ready to feed open mouth,
orderly guarding shakes head, no, not a believer.
He overhears, yes I am, yes I am.
No, orderly insists family forbids that.
That? Like consecrated manna is a thing
one pops into mouth like a morsel?
He whines, thumps chest, I am own boss,
I want bread, I want, I want.
Cannot break family’s wish said orderly.
No! Break rule, my heart screams.
Caregiver’s verdict: he’s confused.
Finality, a rock no one can break.
Wretched hungry soul quarantined,
Condemned sans wings to fly.
Whines of drooping leaves.
Longing, aching to fly again.
Flower that wilted, morphed into grey.
Who sealed his will to languish in a cage?
Who will feed open mouth of sinking dotard
moaning, I want, I want?
Scourge on spirit of ancient domain,
roaming into dreams of flight,
floating skies of moon day bright,
transcended realm no limit in time.
Blanca Datuin
Blanca Datuin describes herself as a “writer incognito.” She is a retired teacher in English under the Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD). She was a Eucharistic Minister (one among her former church services) who administered Holy Eucharist to residents of senior centers. She says she is racing against time to finish two books-in-progress before she moves to the beyond.
