By Jude Roy
The cancer shrunk Daddy,
stretched skin taut over bones,
until he looked like a Dachau victim,
had the same lost,
bewildered look in his eyes.
He cried one night,
head resting on Momma’s chest,
“Don’t let me die.”
Momma patted him on the back
like she did when I had a nightmare
and she couldn’t do anything about it.
“There, there,” she chanted
like a Sunday prayer.
About Jude Roy
Jude Roy's fiction, non-fiction, and poetry has appeared in numerous publications such as The Southern Review, American Short Fiction, Southern Indiana Review, Prism International, The Dead Mule, and many more. Originally from Chataignier, Louisiana, he currently lives and teaches in Madisonville, Kentucky.
The cancer shrunk Daddy,
stretched skin taut over bones,
until he looked like a Dachau victim,
had the same lost,
bewildered look in his eyes.
He cried one night,
head resting on Momma’s chest,
“Don’t let me die.”
Momma patted him on the back
like she did when I had a nightmare
and she couldn’t do anything about it.
“There, there,” she chanted
like a Sunday prayer.
About Jude Roy
Jude Roy's fiction, non-fiction, and poetry has appeared in numerous publications such as The Southern Review, American Short Fiction, Southern Indiana Review, Prism International, The Dead Mule, and many more. Originally from Chataignier, Louisiana, he currently lives and teaches in Madisonville, Kentucky.