‘Nursing Home’ by Mary O’Donnell

Like an accountant,
her quill-sharp mind still oversees the bills
as I sign off for her again.
Thin skin loosens in folds on her skeleton;
her hands have bruises.
She’s deaf,
can’t eat,
eyesight’s poor.
The day-room scene upsets her:
slack mouths,
the permanently raving,
all marble-eyed stares.
In sunny weather, hatted residents cluster
outside near bright begonias.
Nurses encourage her to join
flower-arranging,
No! she says
with a wave of that pianist’s hand,
No! she shakes her head
at the slow excruciation
of an Irish céili waltz,
removes her hearing aids.
On the September night she dies
the nursing home
scarcely shudders
in its coma.

From issue #8: spring/summer 2019

About the Author
Mary O’Donnell is a poet, novelist and short story writer. A book of essays on her work, Giving Shape to the Moment: the Art of Mary O’Donnell, was published by Peter Lang in 2018. Empire (Arlen House 2018), a collection of linked stories, is in its third printing. She is a member of Aosdána.