1st Place winner of The Poetry Lighthouse Prize Winter 2025
Dialysis
by Elizabeth Hill
I rush to reach you, Dad, but the bus creeps along.
I eat your cookies all day. There’s nothing else to do.
You tell the story about Andrew again. I don’t know how many times.
You nap all afternoon in your favorite chair.
I eat your cookies all day. There’s nothing else to do.
It’s Thursday: you play bridge with Jackie, Frank and Sylvia.
You tell the story about Andrew again. I don’t know how many times.
You go to bed at 8:00.
It’s Thursday: you play bridge with Jackie, Frank and Sylvia.
The Red Sox lost again.
You go to bed at 8:00.
You cannot remember when Mom died, so many other things.
The Red Sox lost again
You can’t find your glaucoma eye drops.
You cannot remember when Mom died, so many other things.
You resist the cane, the walker.
You can’t find your glaucoma eye drops.
You can no longer see to do the crossword.
You resist the cane, the walker.
Your arthritis stabs you in the shoulders.
You can no longer see to do the crossword.
You lurch down the halls, bloody from falls.
Your arthritis stabs you in the shoulders.
You refuse dialysis for your kidneys.
You lurch down the halls, bloody from falls.
Your back, throbbing, can’t unbend.
You refuse dialysis for your kidneys.
I rush to reach you Dad, but the bus creeps along.
Elizabeth
Hill
Dear Editor and Readers,
Thank you for reading my work. A bit about me: I was a Finalist in the 2022 Rattle Poetry Contest. I was nominated for the 2023 Pushcart Prize by Last Stanza Poetry Journal. My poetry has been published in 34 th Parallel Magazine, Boomerlit, SAND, and Catamaran, among other journals. I am currently a candidate for an MFA at VCFA and I am a retired Administrative Law Judge who was responsible for suits between learning disabled children and the school system. I live in Harlem, NYC with my husband and two irascible cats.
