Giving Up
by Julien DuBrow

About the author

Julien holds a Master’s degree in theology and is a spiritual director and artist. She lives in the Bay area with her husband and two dogs.

You are dying sooner than later

and I watch in the shadows of the palm.

You turn to the earth planting

hibiscus and gardenia

that will long outlive you

humming that wet morning tune.

I used to shy behind the outhouse

keeping out of you way.

Remember the way you yelled?

Now I can’t stay away,

watching you dig, plant, press

fresh roots into the ground.

When the last shaking

presses your body down,

you cry, reach out your hand

as if someone will take it.

Crawling into bed beside you

my fingers wrap around your palm.

Now I am alone.

My toes press into soaked green

I don’t know how to give you to.