After the stroke
you could not lift your left
hand to meet your right in prayer,
so a daughter pressed
her young flesh full palm
against your wrinkled one
so your hands could speak
for your lips were cracked
in a mouthy desert of dried saliva.
This daughter, by your side
tried to abide the orders
to keep you alive,
alive with no solids, lacking
the joy of a quenched hunger,
so she snuck an orange tic tac
on your tongue and held it firmly
as you sucked the wad of citrus
a sweetness so fleeting
giving you only a moment of pleasure,
as your lips parted like wings readied for flight.
— LAURIE KUNTZ
Laurie Kuntz has written six books and been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and two Best of the Net Prizes. Her work has been published in Gyroscope Review, Roanoke Review, Third Wednesday, One Art, Sheila Na Gig, and other journals. Happily retired and residing in Florida, she lives in an endless summer state of mind.