His body shook as I gripped his hands.
My eyes filled with tears as he looked up at the ceiling.
His breath drew quickly,
his skin turned white.
The heart monitor interrupted the silence.
I pulled myself against his chest,
watching as his glassy, grey eyes closed.
I stroked his pale, wrinkled face
that was still and serene.
Its gloom hung heavily in the air.
With his eyes shut, I left a soft kiss.
Rough but gentle, his lips against mine.
It was always so easy to embrace him,
ready to receive my touch.
I listen to the piercing tone of the heart monitor.
My husband’s face, worn with time,
lay in the calm effects of death.
I felt a slow tear slide down my face,
landing onto his muted, blue hospital gown.
The harsh note resonated through the room.
I heard the heart monitor quicken;
my dear husband convulsed.
His eyes rolled back,
showing his milky, white puddles.
Its haunting sound washed over me.
I felt the young nurse
touch my weak shoulder and speak solemnly,
“Ma’am, it’s time.”
I let out a hollow cry of sorrow,
as he flat lined.
Jillian Fenwick, 12th grade, Lewis Central High School, says, "This piece is about someone observing death in action." Editor Abigail Fellin comments, "I really enjoyed this because of the rhythm the repetition of the beeps gives the poem."