By the White Office Door

By the White Office Door
for Karen

Another bone marrow has lost direction
like children just wandering away, confused, alone
and another Mother is  gone.
After the phone call
I pulled the chart
to look at my notes
The important part is inside the back cover, 
the poet’s scratch pad 
where meaning slowly emerges. 
I write about memories 
shared conversations, 
of her interests and 
kindnesses.

Who will buy me chocolates now
and smile at me so warmly
during her children's checkups?
She always asked 
about me.

  And when I said, “You're going in on the 29th, right?”
she smiled and said, “Very good.  You remembered.”
Because the little things count, I remember thinking,
and the big things too
as I see her standing by the white office door
children gone
sun on her face
smiling
as I gave her a kiss goodbye
      
  Glenn Feole
July, 1996

Westport, Ct.

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