The Dying Friend

This piece is simple, yet I hope it can still be striking to whoever reads it. I have been thinking about writing this poem for a very long time.

My grandmother reads Yeats

to her dying friend.

I am not sure what life means anymore.

Process

I don’t usually write poetry, but this story was one that had to become a poem. I struggled with line breaks, I read it aloud dozens of times before I decided this was the way the poem should be broken up. I realized that I enjoy writing poetry, something I had never thought about writing before.