The Conversation (for little Callie)

The weight of ages presses against her,

Cornered but unafraid, she is too weak,

With hardly a breath left, she turns to speak.

“This is the end. The darkness grows stronger,”

Like giving birth, death needs no privacy,

It asks for nothing, answers not at all.

“I am dying,”

her words quietly fall,

“I need your consent,”

her eyes follow me.

I cannot give it, though in our embrace,

When peace comes, I must cover her with tears.

“Not now,”

I beg before she disappears,

When I recall the beauty in that face.

Beauty that was not blemished by her pain.

“Not now,”

I cried loudly, but understood,

Giving her up but keeping what I could.

To ask for more than this would be in vain.