October 2024
Deborah Adelman
adelman.deborah@gmail.com
Bio Note: I live and write in Oak Park, Illinois. I taught English and Film Studies at College of DuPage, and now, in retirement, am working on a full-length memoir while also continuing to work in poetry and fiction. My other main activity involves organizing and activism for social justice, primarily, in this moment, around the issue of justice in Palestine. My work has appeared in Lilith, Memoir Magazine, Cream City Review and Jewish Currents.

Hospice

Elizabeth says
	he should lay flat, he’ll be more comfortable.

Sandra says
	prop him up, it will help clear the congestion.

The other Elizabeth tells me
	to let him know it is okay to go now, 
	that I will be fine.

Sandra says
	don’t tell him it is okay to go,
	just tell him you accept it.

Stefanie sends me out to buy chocolate ice cream.

Katherine won’t give him a bite or sip of anything,
	she doesn’t want him to choke.

No one knows how to help their beloved depart.

Surely not I,
	who was so certain
	that if the house smelled 
	strongly of brisket:
	fatty beef simmered in 
	onion and tomato for hours

I might convince him to eat,
	stay longer,
	come back to life.

Laura comes,
stethoscope around her neck,
	she smells the food,
	knows my type,
	is on to me.

Deborah, she says,
	Your father is dying.

©2024 Deborah Adelman
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