Tag Archives: Joanne Corey


We were the October Babes, You from 1950, Me from 1960. On your fifty-fourth birthday, You managed coffee ice cream with hot fudge Despite the metastases in your neck. On my fifty-fourth birthday, I raise a solo toast with your … Continue reading

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The Last Night

Hospice told my husband what to expect as his father’s death approached, skin mottled, eyes open but unseeing. Crush the morphine, mix with water, spoon into his gaping mouth every two hours. The death rattle started, unmistakable, though we had … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 15 Comments