Saul Bennett
Quarters
Before my eyes my father
died in three
-fourths of an hour. "I hurt,"
from my bedroom doorway
he said. "I cut
an orange for you."
Then he lay down.
I believe now
forty years after he was in
pajamas. We were alone,
my mother in the hospital having a
breast cut off.
I made for the kitchen and polished
off a quarter. The rest
of that orange today
still smells. I called
the doctor. A long time
he knew my father. He got
over in half an hour, my father
rolling in their bed con
vulsing. He gave him
a needle or two.
Then the doctor-
it was August, you see-
made it to the droning room
air conditioner and back to us
began to cry against that almighty
hum. Some odor. In a gold
and black silk
rep necktie I was taken
to the hospital. "Daddy
died"-and threw myself
over her. I want to live!
she screamed past
and through me clinging
to the headboard bars.
Owing to her slow
to heal chest they wouldn't
let her to his funeral. Anyway,
he died a year later.