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In Her Fortieth Year

Suzanne Edgar

Jun 01 2008

1 mins

The night my sister received the news
that she would die before long
she sat straight up in the hospital bed
and hardly paused for breath

but spoke like a woman who’d put up a fight:
Death’s never frightened me. Then again,
if dying becomes a drawn-out thing …
She left the rest unsaid.

From jutting her chin at the window’s glass
as if a ghost out there fought back,
she leaned against the pillows
and scowled at the starless sky.

Her words and black defiant eyes
displayed the sort of grit
that I had always seen from her—
she didn’t miss a beat.

Her end was not an easy one
I watched, and I couldn’t help:
the dying time proved slow and hard
just as we had feared.

Suzanne Edgar

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