That worn, heavy body in the bed,
with tubes connected to hidden orifices,
must be moved,
by two brisk staff members,
every two hours,
from one side to another,
must be cleaned and tended
as its processes forge steadily on,
must be powdered,
so as not to offend.
Eyes closed, she sleeps,
deeply in coma.
She is all body now,
all process,
as slowly the systems close down,
the breathing slows.
Soon, there will be
a final breath,
then a profound silence.
Stand back
and open a window,
for that is when her spirit
will fly free.
posted for Kim's Verse First at Poets United, where the prompt is: the Body.
