Ground Hog’s Day Prayer for Hospice

Wake me up, God,
not to some frantic counting out
of weeks,
but to a precious february of days
for seeing all the shadows —

the outline of childhood,
a shaded place
where I meet old friends
awkward, clutching, like children
with brown lunch bags,
their  “good-byes,”

and the biggest shadow of all
that bully, my illness,
that makes me want to go back to sleep.

But do not let me miss it — this wintering
and growing of the light.
Let me find in a new community
of compassionate strangers …

not a crazy movie where everything
happens over and over again
until we get it right,

but a sweet foolish letting go
of right and wrong and a thousand
other adjectives
that mean nothing now.

Do not let me miss it —
long-delayed, too early, or much feared,
my own coming of the spring.

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