weightier matters

First draft


He has a cold,

His breathing like gravel and sludge.

He can’t get comfortable,

Can’t seem to relax.


He throws his head around,

Whimpers or even cries out.

He is past tired.


But I don’t complain.

His weight on my chest

And fitful squirming still fit perfectly,

Like he’s where he belongs

And should always only be.

If I thought he could sleep like this,

I would stay right here all night.

For now

I wait






And snuggle.


She is a voice on the phone.

That’s how I know her now,

How I’ve known her

For more than half my life.

A voice

And a hug once or twice a year.

Our connection is no longer


Like before,

When I am lying on my bed


And she is rubbing the Vick’s

On my chest,

Covering it with a washcloth,

Rubbing my back

While I whimper and moan.

She keeps at it,

Rubbing and patting

And singing.


Did she know it would happen?

That we would leave,

Become only voices?

Did she know the last time

I lay on her chest

Was the last time?

Did she know

And hold on

To that moment?

Or did she refuse to let go?

Does she still believe

As I believe,

That the weight of her children

Belongs and always only should be

On her chest

And in her arms?


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4 Responses to weightier matters

  1. shoutloudly says:

    You are so lovely. I love your words.


  2. Carol says:

    Oh Alyce. This is so good. I love to read it.


  3. Marty says:

    Simple beautiful❤️


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