Rosie Garcia – a poem by Carl Mayfield

Rosie Garcia

Too short for most Disney rides,
north of 70, no family,
she smiled when her diagnosis
was passed across the desk,
opting for palliative care.
A recovering Catholic for years,
the final cure had arrived.

She wanted to know why I wasn’t
having more fun when I stopped by
the following week, spreading her hands
as though to say: things happen.
We watched a football game on TV,
with Rosie encouraging both sides.

Time nibbled.

When I came by to say good-bye
she squeezed my hand,
whispering: less grim, mister.
A week later death
borrowed her name.
Left her body to science,
her spirit to this world.


Carl Mayfield began his career as a human being way back in the annals of one-step-at-a-time. Recent work can be found in Abbey, Plum Tree Tavern, Wales Haiku Journal, Skidrow Penthouse.

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