Poetry by George Perreault

                   ​Paul Sableman CC



the case worker

Tabith’s gone past quiet
into selectively mute, was
a morning last summer 
eased out of her room, found
her brother done hung himself
right there in the hallway.

Darlene, she’ll maybe show
Tuesday or such, the chemo  
gets iffy and likely by then 
you’ll have her slow gliding
paler and thinner till we 
don’t see her no more.

Judith, that’s epilepsy
and least twice a month 
down on the floor, though 
cept for the new kids
no one gets freaked – just
keep an eye on her tongue.

Plus Devon’s in there 
and he knows the drill – 
his mom with the lupus
and pretty far gone, so he’s
able to hold her and they 
kinda gentle along,

his eyes like a whisper
tracing a map and believes
there’s a town we can get to –
beaver in the marsh – that
somewhere beyond broken
there’s acceptable loss.

​

George Perreault has published widely in journals and anthologies in the US and elsewhere.

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