Hospital in Oregon

Shhh, my grandmother is sleeping,
They doped her up with morphine for her last hours.
Her eyes are black and vacant like a deer’s.
She says she hears my grandfather calling.

A deerfly enters through a tear in the screen,
Must’ve escaped from those there sickly Douglas firs.
Flits from ankle to elbow, then lands on her ear.
Together, they listen to the ancient valley.

Credit

From A Portrait of the Self as Nation: New and Selected Poems (W. W. Norton, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Marilyn Chin. Used with the permission of the poet.