A collection of my poems, both old and new.
Notable Rankings:
1 in #poetsofwattpad (2021-06-01)
1 in #poetryclub (2021-06-01)
1 in #poetrycommunity (2021-06-18)
1 in #slampoetry (2022-04-13)
1 in #wattpadpoets (2022-04-13)
1 in #wattpadpoet (2022-04...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Mrs. Bettger"
I feed her ice cream,
a stainless spoon approaching lips,
old and welcoming
on the day she turns 100.
I steer her down the hall,
the patter of wheels on tile
soft and now, in death,
silent.
˗ˏˋ・。☆.・゜✭・. AUTHOR'S NOTES ✫・゜・。.・。. ✭
My first summer job was as a janitor at a nursing home. Some days I helped feed the residents, like Mrs. Bettger, who could no longer feed themselves. It was a wonderful job for a young poet, firmly anchoring my teenage perspective within the broader context of lives lived fully and, at times, to completion. It wasn't my first taste of death but it was a place where death was natural, even commonplace, and lacked the sense of tragedy we so often associate with it.
It's also a job that I dare say taught me some humility (from which I'm told I have since fully recovered). Do you know those moments where you walk into a public restroom, fouled beyond belief with something horrible splattered upon the floors and walls? You have a visceral reaction and that little voice in your head whispers "...I should call someone." Well that was commonplace and, in those moments, I learned quickly that I was the very person I was supposed to call.
