The flowers waving.

WAVING BY WALLY SWIST 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 132

You see me coming through

the door of the ward

and I see you waving

an expectant, friendly wave,

a windmill propelling

its sails in a sea breeze,

a welcoming to the morning.

How were we to know

that you would be offered

a new room, one with a view

of the courtyard garden,

a room at the head of the hall

I was walking down

when you began waving,

with me waving back.

How much I thought of that

standing behind your wheelchair,

sunlight filtering throughout

your new room, illuminating

the tiled floor, filling the large windows,

and leaning over to look at your face

I asked if you liked it.

“Yes,” you said, in awe,

your countenance enrapt

in approbation, in excitement

that there was such a garden,

where the flowers about to form

would be waving to you, as we

had been waving to each other.

WALLY SWIST

I wake early to drive to a care facility to give my wife Tevis her breakfast. She has advanced Alzheimer’s. I am fond of reading the work of the French Christian mystic philosopher Louis Lavelle. He inspired my essays on spirituality and caregiving. wallyswist.com