Padre Santo, Padre Bueno.

My mom just stopped by with some soup
some meds, cough drops, and Jello
(like I don't have enough of the latter)
to combat this latest illness. As she picked up my rabbit
and held it close she told me my grandmother
fell in the bathroom again today, threw her nightgown
at her last night saying she wants to die.
Her eighty-eighth was four days ago, she told me
she was turning fourteen when I asked
and she may have believed herself.
I guess I can't blame her for her wishes, though.
Her husband died before my mother was even born:
fifty-four years of solitude, far more real than Gab's 100.
Maybe He'll be gracious and grant her wish already.
Call me morbid if you like, it's just how it is.
Or maybe not and the more she asks for final rest
the longer she'll stay on Earth. He's a funny one like that
and I wouldn't put it past Him. Just look at what he did
to our alleged Superman and "Magic" Johnson.
I don't believe in God
but I fear Him.