Grant Clauser offers an affecting poem on those who are often alone during the holiday season.
—
Somehow the Music
My daughter plays Christmas songs
on her viola at the Elmwood Cross
Home for Seniors,
and as I watch the women
in wheelchairs and walkers,
gowns tied sloppily at the shoulders
I think how by the time
she graduates from high school
half of these people
will be dead.
Those two first—
the woman decaying passively
in an armchair,
her legs wrapped in pressure bandages
to keep the varicose at bay
and her husband who will die
exactly three days later.
When Danica plays Silent Night
for these slowly fading lights
four or five faces
sing the chorus as they remember it
and somehow her music
will be there
when they close their eyes tonight
and the fog of them lifts
like the scent of skin
you notice
but do not mention.
***
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