V4
Plot spoiler: I quit.
It was the blood,
translucent at the edges
because she walked barefoot,
her I love yous soft stepping
into my peripheral hearing,
while I held her head
like an infant. I was fifteen.
I love you too, Gertie. Believe
me. I love you, too.
Author’s Note: When I was about 15, I was hired part-time as a nurse’s assistant in a nursing home. My job was to bathe, dress, feed and care for elderly people, including those with dementia and Alzheimer’s. At that time, they used to tether some residents to the bed to prevent them from wandering. I could not get myself to do it tightly–it seemed too cruel, and as a result, my favorite patient, Gertie, got up in the middle of the night and hit her head. I remember her walking down the hall, holding the railing, bleeding all over the floor, until she finally fell before I could reach her.
She used to tell me every time I went into her room, “I love you.” She’d pull my head closer to her ear and say it over and over. I still see her tiny, puckered face, her hands. She was close to 90, and I towered over her. “I love you too,” I’d answer. Over and over.
This poem has been difficult to write. After four drafts, I’m still too close to the subject. To this day, I don’t know what other options I had when I made the decision to tie those tethers loosely.
I did love you, Gertie. I love you.
