Pull The Plug


Hi honey, I’m back.


your greeting.

I look at you

your eyes stare  vacantly

yet – you recognise me

I hurry to wipe the drool

that hangs  down to the pillow


how was your day?


you understand, and respond thus

every day.


I lift  your limp  hand,

stroking  the parched  skin,

so tender I’m scared it’ll break.


hands  that had once stroked,

caressed, and taken me

to heights of ecstasy.


your lips swollen

I apply a balm again

never seems to work

the skin chapped- raw and red

I miss their warmth and

their kissess  so soft,

so supple, so sensual,

that once covered

my whole being


the tube through your nose

seems to have become a

part of you

I pat your cheek


you  love my doing  that

always responding,  though

your face is dead pan

how you loved to hold your face

close  to mine

sitting  for hours

me on your lap

our faces touching

no words spoken



I run my hands through your hair


still silky as it was before

you would throw your head back to

get the hair in place

how I adored that


your neck can no longer support anything

gaunt ,every nerve screaming

I pat your neck



I pull away the sheet  – the sight

never fails  to sting my eyes

your once muscular body

now wasted

all skin  and  bone

three years in bed have taken

away your pounds of flesh

gently  I wipe you down

like I would  have our baby

had she been born


she died in my womb

the same instant

as the crash did this  to you


they want my “yes”

to pull the plug

brain  dead

is what they say


but I know

you still  feel my  touch

you understand my

every word

every mood

every action

every thought

every feeling

like  you did before.


sweetheart, the only plug

that’s  being  pulled  is

the one  in  the




This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About Elizabeth Kuriakose

A hectic career as a banker and looking after family kept me busy for ages. Quit my job to look after family. Once the children were old enough to take care of themselves, I discovered my love for writing in late 2014. Words in poetry or prose have been my constant companion thence on.

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