I WORRY

By: Claire Scott

I won’t be good at it

confusing rows of pills in orange vials

two pink ones at noon instead of at night

forgetting the antiseptic wipe

and sterile gloves when I flush his port

I worry I will be resentful

anger unfurling like a wind-whipped flag

overcooking his eggs

forgetting to order Depends

I worry my life will be swallowed

by his needs

no time to walk, to write

to have tea with friends

I worry I will be lonely

I watch others in the clinic

one helping her husband

find his phone, his hands shaking

another loudly repeats

that that this Dr. Stanley’s office

you remember Dr. Stanley

as she pushes the wheelchair

to the men’s room

I notice the wet on his pants

another woman softly says

time to put our coat on

as she gentles him awake

I worry I am afraid

of death’s warm breath

what happened

whatever happened

to the happy life they shared

now a distant memory

how can they do it

after sixty years

soft with sadness

waves part, the past

flows how can I not

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Claire Scott is an award-winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review and Healing Muse among other journals. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t.