Home for a few hours,
then in the morning,
back at the hospital.
James steps out,
gives April and me some time.
Mom spent the night last night,
asks if I want a turn.
Dad’s moved from Intensive Care
to a private room.
If it weren’t for his diaper, the IVs,
it could almost seem like a hotel.
I place an amethyst on his chest,
he smiles,
curls his fingers around it.
Says when he dies, he wants a party.
Nothing sad, he says, a celebration of life.
I tell him shhh,
ask if he wants to watch TV.
Hoarsely, he whispers
put on something brilliant.
Lucky for us,
Amadeus is on.
Mozart’s hands speeding
over the piano keys
as Salieri seethes
with jealousy.
Dad tries to conduct
a few times with his hands
but they are attached to
too many things.
A nurse comes in,
asks him to not move around
so much.
The credits roll as Mozart
releases his last
high-pitched cackle
over the screen’s darkness.
Dad laughs too.
I imagine the sound echoing
through the hospital hallways,
shaking the pill bottles
right off that nurse’s tray.