By Dana Macy
“Eat Mum. It’s potato…your favorite.”
She squints through steel bed rails, “I love you.”
“Why now, Mum?”
“Okay okay, potato.”
My pace is quick, snaking through a blur of chatty night nurses and the too red lipstick on Nurse Keryn who nods in that ever-so-compassionate-way, meaning…it will all be over by morning…
Mum’s gaping mouth. “Okay okay, potato.”
I wonder if the night nurse heard her.