analyticstracking
Poetry

The Kiss

There was a first kiss
at the hospital, after hours,
between my grandparents who have been married
sixty years.
The lights were dim
and my grandmother, pale as shell
after surgery, lay in her bed
looking up.
Grandpa, hunched like a walnut,
minced his way forward,
lay his face
on her face.
Their lips bunched
with the fervor
of too many short days.
Grandma peered through the tubes
of catheters, fluids, moving monitors,
saw him
on the other side.