Sonnet
Steven Fox Yasukawa
His eyeballs fall into their sockets. Deep
and toothless mouth a perfect O. In sleep
I see him: fragile now, no longer strong
or clear—a man with fading thoughts and lungs.
He's painted on a skull, expression just
forgotten, mem'ry covered thick with frost.
His breath is quiet, uses nostril tubes.
The sound is even, calming, even though
it seems like he would die without their help,
inflating him with air the way he felt
before he had to pee in bottles, ask
for help with eating, standing, when to nap.
Before, like Alabama, back from war,
when he could kiss his children, mow his yard
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Elisa Noeske