Bill Brown and I met six decades ago when we were were newly minted journalists working at The St. Petersburg Times in Florida. Bill retired after being executive editor of the Montgomery Advertiser and proceeded to edit a weekly paper, write a book of sketches titled Yellow Cat, Hendry & Me and, recently, he has taken to playwriting and poetry. The poem that follows was written after visiting his wife, and our dear friend, Adelaide. I invite you to breath in and out several times and meditate on the fragility of our existence.
by William Blake Brown
At a Nursing Home Window
During the Coronavirus Pandemic
He calls, and they wheel her to the window.
Drawn deep inside herself she sits, gazing
into a land only she can visit,
until he taps the glass to call her back.
The smile that charms him still lights up her face
and she returns to the present moment.
His nose almost touching the glass, he speaks
above the din of the busy highway.
It is his news report about the kids,
grandkids, and friends. Sometimes her face goes blank
and he sees someone eludes her memory.
It is not important; they let it pass.
Often, they lapse into a long silence
taking comfort in the other’s presence.
When she begins to drift away again,
he does not try to pull her back; instead
he blows a kiss and waves goodbye.
Only after he has turned away
does he allow the tears to streak his face.
(In the last few weeks he has been able to visit on the porch, at a distance.)
Photo: Sasha Freemind via Unsplash