These poems were written for patients in the Mayo Clinic's Palliative Care unit. Read more about the partnership between ASU artists and the Mayo Clinic in "Taking Leave."

23 March 2006
The Pitcher and the Catcher

Crouched behind a leather mitt, you catch
What is thrown at you: my illness,
My rough history of curveballs.

Your hand quick, closes on every throw.
We are like this: the pitcher and catcher.

Our arms strong and gloved, reading
The red spin of threat, arc of the ball,
Your toss, an always gentle return.

What you don’t know is the soft cradle
Of your own hand, how part of every throw is me
Falling into the webbed netting of your mitt,
The worn leather landing of another knuckleball.

We are like this, Dayton, unshocked
By the gravity of what flies between us,
By what lands with a pop in the hand,
And in every release, another catch.

-- Douglas S. Jones

7 September 2006
Still Life

Your brothers say it was easy for you
Effortless, Bill says. She didn’t have to study.

The eldest of four,
You were in charge.
But you leaned toward the gentle side—
Passion spoken through your hands.

Landscapes bloomed from oils on canvas,
Canyons, deserts, mountains covered walls,
Color palettes dreamed by you,
Flowers in still life,
Opening before your green eyes.

Feeding family and friends—
Christmas turkeys, crown roasts,
Tuna and mustard.
Your long, brown hair swinging
As you mingled with your guests,
While another part of you danced
At the kitchen stove.

Effortless, they say.
The way you tied those sheets together,
Tough knots tethered you from the second floor window
To whatever waited in the Cinder Pits or Boonies,
Laughter, friends, the sounds of your youth.

Music lingers—
The gentle strum of your guitar,
The racing bow on your violin,
Banjo strings plucked like grapes from a vine.
Beatles, Bartok, Bach.
The sounds of you here,
Effortlessly.

-- Sheilah Britton