Nightlife

Nightlife

Barbara Truan

Held awake half one night, I toss then
turn to find what lies in quiet—
all that’s missed through day’s doings.
Like how some symphony
of the unseen never stops playing me,
maybe even calls me to play too.

My faith-filled grandmother had to have
heard and taken up this invisible instrument
of self: by the time she reached her final
days, that unseen Her was some
sublime concerto.

When she couldn’t do a thing,
mornings while caregivers washed
and powdered her behind, she’d
rage against the infancy of age
but billowing from her bones were
other Notes, wisps of melody unstrung
but real.

In the middle of the night, she’d
shout and they’d come, wheel her
bed down to the nurse’s station, let her
stay beside them. For reasons they
could not quite say, they somehow loved
the presence of this one demented
old lady, our Catherine.

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Barbara Truan
Poet & Writer

Barbara’s work has appeared in a number of publications including Poets Reading the News, The Closed Eye Open, and Offshoots. She is a member of the Geneva Writers’ Group and holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Seattle Pacific University.

Photography by Olivier Piquer