POETRY
Entrances and Exits
You sweep people away like dreams that disappear.
They are like grass that springs up in the morning
— Psalm 90:5
Two weeks into December we are
all coming and going in my brother’s
house, Hospice nurses attending
to his needs, some family whispering
of days to come, others partaking
of a meal prepared by community and
church friends. Outside, a lone red bird
thuds against the plate-glass window,
and the day wears on like a controlled burn.
And then she is gone — the family’s newest
member, the one so full of life, the one
who had organized the barn that morning,
had run with the hunting dogs during the day,
had teared at the bedside of her brother-in-law,
stroking his lifeless arm like the wind caressing
a feather. Gone — before we could ring 9-1-1.
Before we could say goodbye. Before we could
come to terms with the cardinal’s thwacks
against the window pane.
Jo Taylor is a retired, 35-year English teacher from Georgia. In 2021, she published her first collection of poems, Strange Fire, and in 2024, she published her second book, Come before Winter (Kelsay Books). Connect with her on Facebook or at https://www.jotaylorwrites.com/.
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