Dying Aside

She’s 95 and in a side room with tubes up her nostrils and eyes without iris. Death can be pain-free these days – shrieking no longer on the menu. Only she pants like a woman in labour snatching at the air as the waves consume her. The door stands open. She hears the nurses chat and their hot feet patter… continue reading

Copyright © Rogan Wolf – Poet and Social Worker
In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

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