The vigil is over; Martina is gone.
Her children have returned to their homes
which seem now so strange —

the red and yellow marigolds
that once brightened the yard look diminished,
and a grey film lingers over the sofas and chairs.

It is as if the struggle between moments and worlds
that held Martina for days —

the ancient drumbeat of “More life! More life!”
that made her fight without knowing she fought
and dream without knowing she dreamt;

that shaped the rhythm of her final days,
holding them all entranced and exhausted
until her last breath had passed —

it is as if that world were the real world,
the normal one; the one they didn’t know existed
until it held them, too.Elizabeth A. Gibson holds a B.A. in English and Creative Writing, and an M.A. in American Studies, both from Michigan State University. Her poems have been published in Cutthroat: A Journal of the Arts and The Prompt, and are pending publication in The Tishman Review. Ms. Gibson currently works as a business writer in Atlanta.