Psalm for Those Who Die Alone

E. D. WATSON

April 19, 2020

You never thought it’d be like this. 

Nor did your parents, thumbing 

the rosary in the hospital garage, 

unable to come in. All the things

you left undone, your desk in disarray

half a cup of coffee, cold and scummy

in your favorite mug. You thought

that you’d get well, until today.

Today you know. And though it hurts

you want each breath. Oh friend,

I hope when you let go, the room

is full of everyone you ever loved

who went before: Prince, your grandma,

Kenny Rogers. That girl you waited tables

with. May you know an ecstasy. May it fill

and draw you in. Bless your body

for it has been faithful. In whatever ways 

you have despised it, it carried you to now. 

Let go the coffee cup. The bed rail. 

Let gratitude burn you up. May you pass 

like a moth, lovesick for the flame.

E. D. WATSON currently serves as the Poet-in-Residence for St. Mark's Church in San Marcos, Texas. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Texas State University and is pursuing certification at the Institute of Poetic Medicine. Her poems and stories have been published in a number of literary journals.