“A Few Minutes After Nine” by Charles Douthat (Poetry ’19)

A FEW MINUTES AFTER NINE 

I
After Sunday another winter Monday,

and some hours after Monday’s midnight

his fourth week began. His fourth Tuesday

alone with her, still on the five-to-noon shift

he’d claimed arriving from the East Coast,

choosing to remain on Eastern Standard Time.

So he woke naturally to the slow, much-alike

mornings. Bed-rails chroming brighter at dawn.

Room-lamps paling. Windows sluggishly filling

with light. Days imperceptibly coming to life

as he fulfilled promises made to her

and to himself: he would stay to the end;

he would feel whatever there was to feel;

he would remember how death came for her.