Two poems by Margaret

I am a gringa--una gringa vieja--an old Caucasian woman. I am weak, susceptible to disease, sometimes in pain--but I am not dying.

She is Latina, young and strong. There is nothing in her eyes or demeanor to show the struggle her life has been. She smiles and sings while she is scrubbing the shower and cleaning the toilet. We talk about her mother, her children and her sisters. Not about her husband, if she has one. To me, she is loving, willing, and dependable.

I go to the hospital. I have a bacterial blood infection.

There she is again! her name is Maria--Tita--Esperanza--Conchita She supports me as we work our way to the bathroom, pulling the IV machine in our wake. She rubs my back, but must hurry to her next patient at the sound of the buzzer. In the middle of the night she flicks on the soft light and whispers as she helps me.

She smooths the covers, removes my slippers, and smiles "Good Night." My doctor helps me heal. He know how to make me well. I go home, grateful for the many kindnesses of the people I have met. But in my heart, most grateful to the young Latina. She has no idea how beautiful she is.

I know I'm going to die.

But not today.

I have these things to do --

There is no way, or time enough,

To do them all.

I'll not delay to start tomorrow,

I can't today because I saw a bird,

a flower, a bee.

I had to watch because you see them

all together so seldomly.

My neighbor called to me to come and see her pups.

She wanted to talk to me

about her dogs she loves so much.

The phone rang and time flew by.

I fell asleep in my soft chair;

I had no thought of staying there.

I know I'm going to die --

But not today.

I'll think about it later.

Or I'll just let it come and find me there.