Grace in the Paper Towel

by Erika Gabrielsen

he recites the Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service
head back, eyes closed in his medical grade bed
on pitch, in rhythm of the Klondike

I give a few cues and prompts for missed words
deep in his cortex he finds the rhyme
he pauses before his favorite line

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code

he clears his throat, like ice is freezing over early winter surfaces
his esophagus weakens until he won’t swallow

I hand him a penny cent industrial paper towel to spit into
he thanks me with his whole being
like I have presented him a golden frame of lifetime achievement

oh, thank you so much, you are so kind

as if I shouldn’t have
as if helping him swallow is the kindest, most generous gesture anyone ever made

and maybe it is