Gone, a poem by Lyla Hershkovitz, 10

Gone

Lyla Hershkovitz, 10

Gone
She drifts away
Crumbling
As I hold her hand, it crinkles
Lifeless
Drained
She says something I cannot understand,
Maybe because I’m not thinking
Fluids drip out of full bags,
The nurses detach the suctions
As if they want her to melt away
Her ring slips off, I don’t catch it
It’s like being a baby and wanting to tell your mother you love her
It’s like not being able to express
I get chills, and my stomach drops
The beeping of a pumping heart monitor stops
We’re done