Poetry / The Last Breath

I didn’t recognize the man in the bed
Though I will never forget his face.

His body, in an awkward position.
His muscles, seized in anticipation of the Light.
His head, tilted back, begged to the heavens.
His cheeks, drawn, from the effort of breathing
        or from the marked weight loss of a lifelong thin man.
His mouth, wide open, in attempt to lure air into his lungs.

But the lungs weren’t accepting air anymore.

Breathing irregular.  Laboring loudly, steadily, not comfortably.
Suddenly it stopped, the silence louder than the breathing.
We all stopped with him.

Ten…twenty…even thirty seconds would go by.
A dramatic gasp, precious air exiting our sorrow
and entering his peace.
The laboring would begin again.

The last breath.
He took his as we held ours.
No struggle, no whimper, just silence.

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