“Uncertain” by Bruce Gunther

Uncertain

In the room where the body
of my mother lies on a narrow
bed and the lone window
reveals ankle-deep leaves
on the hospice’s front lawn,
and while the other impermanent
residents stare at lunches in the tidy kitchen,
or watch television in a living room
cluttered with idled wheelchairs
and walkers, I move within
my family’s fog of grief
while funeral home reps
look on with barely-concealed impatience —
mine was an hour’s drive and they soon
need the body of my mother.
I lean to kiss her cold forehead;
“I’ll see you down the road,”
is all I can think to say,
without knowing quite where
that leads or even what it means.

Bruce Gunther

Bruce Gunther is a former journalist and writer who lives in Michigan. He is a graduate of Central Michigan University. His poems have appeared in The Dunes Review, Remington Review, Cacti Fur, Modern Haiku, and many others.

Headshot: Trish Gunther

Photo Credit: Staff