Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
José A. Alcántara: To a Friend Who Does Not Believe in God
Neither do I, but yesterday, in the hospital,
for two hours, I held the hand of a dying woman –
my friend’s grandmother, 94, barely intelligible,
and in unrelenting pain. Every few seconds,
she slurred what could only be, Help me.
Help me. Help me. Over and over. Nothing
we did worked: not water, not raising or lowering
the bed, not massage, nothing but canned pineapple,
the little piece we would place in her mouth,
the chewing, something she could do; the juice,
a blessing on her dry tongue. But all too soon
the pain bit back down – the moaning, the grimace,
the Help me. The human remembering the animal.
Suffering and more suffering. Until my friend
placed her phone next to her grandmother’s ear
and played Alan Jackson, singing “What a Friend
We Have in Jesus”, when, from the first chord
on the guitar, her body stilled, her face went slack.
For two minutes, she went somewhere else,
somewhere quiet, beautiful, free of pain.
We played it again. And again. And when
she fell asleep, when her breathing deepened,
her mouth and eyes still open; when the Furies
stopped their gorging, we were so grateful,
not to God, but to her faith, to her belief in something
better, something kinder, and with fewer teeth.
~~~~
José A. Alcántara is the author of The Bitten World: Poems (Tebot Bach, 2022). His poetry and prose have appeared in The American Poetry Review, American Life in Poetry, Harvard Review, Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, Rattle, & The Slowdown. He lives in western Colorado and wherever he happens to pitch his tent.
Copyright 2023 José A. Alcántara. First published in Rattle. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Oh my. THIS POEM. I have no words other than thank you for writing it, José.
LikeLike
her belief in something
better, something kinder,
What an incredibly loving poem…thank you
LikeLike
Yes it is!
>
LikeLike
Alcántara’s poem Divorce saved me one summer a few years ago as I struggled with the pain of a family relationship. This one is equally memorable. May we each find at the end a belief in something better, kinder and with fewer teeth.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Poetry has saved me a number of times through my life. More poetry, less fear!
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a wonderful poem.
LikeLike
Yes, it is.
>
LikeLike
So deeply touching.
As I have gotten older, moments like this become closer to home, and my heart somehow goes somewhere else for a bit of time. It doesn’t come back quite the same.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Me too, Marc. Thank you.
>
LikeLike
An exquisitely observed, deeply compassionate inquiry into the nature of faith, the need for comfort, the utility of art. Thank you, José A. Alcántara, for this beauty.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Spot on, Richard.
LikeLike
When my mother in law was in her last days after losing her son (my husband), my son, the pastor, would bring his guitar and sing religious songs to calm her. Not a believer, I still love to hear old religious songs.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Thank you, Barbara. For this glimpse of faith and compassion.
>
LikeLiked by 3 people
In my child prodigy days as a boy soprano I got to sing Amazing Grace or other religious songs a few times at memorial services for a child, accompanied by tears and weeping. But not once did I ever sing at bedside, until the dying days of wife Pam, even after she was in a coma. This poem, and your story remind me how our art can be such a powerful refresher for faith. It’s like a river that flows to the sea.
Pam was a drummer and board member of the Women’s Drum Center, and as she lay dying, about 20 of them came to her hospice room, but the staff told her their evening drumming might upset others, so they drummed standing, using their hands on their legs. I stood in the back of the room, as one by one members would drop out to go past me into the hall and weep, as I am now. It was the most beautiful farewell I’ve ever seen. The power of love. And they sure did love her.
LikeLiked by 2 people
That’s a beautiful story, Jim. Thank you.
>
LikeLike
Such pain and tenderness in this poem AND in the reactions to it…
LikeLiked by 5 people
Pain and tenderness in the poem and in the responses. Yes.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes
LikeLiked by 3 people
Wonderful poem.
LikeLiked by 5 people
Isn’t it?
>
LikeLiked by 3 people
We attended a memorial service of the husband of a life-long-long friend yesterday, and I read a Montale poem about the sea beckoning the tiny ferment of the human heart to be vast and different, and hold as one. How this lovely Jose’s artful retelling of that passing, the hardship and peace of it. It takes me to my sister in ICU, never another word from her, as they worked a week to bring her back to this world and then the final room where I played her fond music she loved, on my phone held close and soft to her trusting she’d hear it out in the dark as we stayed with her and waited. It seems an inescapable season of loss.
LikeLiked by 6 people
Beautiful and moving, Sean. Thank you.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people