POETRY Nancy Duci Denofio

Her Son is Dying

We talked about
coupons, discounts
at a discount store,
and new color paint
for the third bedroom -
Her son is dying.

We talked about
last night at dinner,
last months grocery
bills, yesterdays
laundry, a broken dryer -
Her son is dying.

We laughed about
an article in the
morning paper, and
how I drastically need
a hair cut -
Her son is dying.

We considered a trip
south to get away from
this cold winter, even if
it for a few days;
and sun bathe -
Her son is dying.

She asked about my
grandchildren, how
they made out last week
in soccer, and if their
cold’s were better -
Her son is dying.

She inquired about a
dress she borrowed once,
the black one, with the
long sleeves, high neck,
and below the knee -
Her son is dying.

I asked about her son,
“Does he know you? Is he
breathing on his own?
Can he speak?”

I never asked how
much longer.

Her son is dying.

Nancy Duci Denofio
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