Try your hand today at your own take on a villanelle, and have the poem end on a question.
She had stories. The stroke took them away. Her mouth moved, sounds that meant something only to her. Three miles of neighborhood streets, and we were there. The nurse explained what we could expect: the breathing, long pauses. We nodded. We stayed. She had stories. The stroke took them away before she knew they’d go. The summer she visited New York City. The neighbor’s dog that followed her home. Three miles of neighborhood streets, and we were there within the hour. The room was ordinary. Bright. Her hands on the sheet. We held them. She had stories. The stroke took them away, and we had learned to sit with what was left; her face still hers, her breath becoming slow and even. Three miles of neighborhood streets, and we were there when she went. Peaceful: a word people reach for and mean. Her breath. Then ours. Then the long strange after. She had stories. The stroke took them away. Three miles of neighborhood streets—where did they go?
Prompt Inspiration
Via NaPoWriMo
Today’s prompt takes its inspiration from Kiki Petrosino’s loose villanelle, “Nursery.”
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