Thursday, 5 October 2017

2 poems by Arlene Antoinette

The Elderly Man & His Nurse

She glides in;
unseen angel wings
adorn her.
His grimace curls into a smile,
when he sees her.
Heaven has
released one of its own to him
for these few hours.

She whispers to him
in Spanish.
He doesn’t understand,
but still, he laughs.
She laughs.
Two foreign languages
bridging the gap
with smiles.

She calls him 'papi.'
He takes it as respect,
she uses it for endearment.
She wipes his nose with a Kleenex,
he responds by kissing her hands--
an unequal exchange of

The hours completed,
she waves as she leaves.
His smile is erased again,
until tomorrow
when she returns.
His earthbound

Arlene Antoinette is a novice poet who enjoys writing poetry and song lyrics. She holds a bachelor's degree in sociology and spent many years working with the developmentally disabled community.

First published 29/05/17

Birthday Loss

I didn't know him well, but
Ben was a close friend of my
parents. Born on the island
of Barbados, he lived most of
his life in England before moving
to the U.S with his family.

Ben was a quiet man who wore a
sheepish grin that hinted of
scandalous things that ought to
be kept secret. I always smiled
when I saw him, my own thoughts
filling in those unrevealed tales.

My parents often told me of those
Sunday afternoon domino games at Ben’s
house where Bajans warred against
Jamaicans while sharing platefuls
of codfish fritters and fried plantains.
Ben was always the victor, a feather in
the cap of the Bajans as the Jamaicans
went home with full bellies and happy

Ben died on my birthday. He laid
frozen and silent in a hospital
bed unable to say goodbye to his family
and friends. As his life faded away
I was driving to the beach searching
for answers and a new start.

I cry not for what he meant to me,
but for what he meant to others. I
weep not for my loss but for theirs.
We are but vapor that ascends upwards
mingling with the air until we are no
longer a singularity, but part of the whole.
Ben, may you climb ever upwards
no more alone, but part of completeness.