My Last Prayer

by: Natasha Karenina Wijaya

It smelled like illness 

and an abundance of chemicals

in this cold, too bright room

with only curtains to separate us

People yelling and children crying,

everything I was feeling but wanted

so much not to hear

She was lifeless, pale, swollen,

like a belly-up goldfish in an eight-year-old’s bedroom

Where once were strands of brown waves

now remain stubbles as prickly as a cactus’ spine

Yet still she was as perfect

as the mother in my memories,

still she was far more beautiful 

than I can ever imagine to be

We stood there, still –

watching the screens as the

numbers grew smaller and the hills

on her green line slowly disappeared

The room fell silent as though we were waiting 

for the choir to start singing

A ringing started in my ears, constant noise

but still desperately failing to replace her pulse

With time, I let go of my clammy grasp

from her now stiff stone cold hand and 

find myself reaching up to wipe away 

a flood of tears that I didn’t realize

had found shelter upon my cheeks

Seconds and minutes began to stumble

as I tried my best to regain posture,

trying to hold it together 

until there was no one but her and I

Though not alone, 

I knew she could no longer feel me

Whispering,

mumbling cries in her ear,

I knew she could no longer hear me

A silent prayer, wishfully hoping

for a sign that she stuck around long enough

just to hear me cry goodbye