No matter how often I look at you
with loving concern in my eyes,
things could still go wrong at random
Even our kids are going to die someday,
and I’m finding it harder to keep
from crying in front of strangers
We’ll never be this young again,
yet pretty much everything now has
a tendency to make us feel old
I may as well be a ghost for my
worthlessness, here, by your side;
watching strong winds move spring trees,
and trying not to think too much
about how alone I’d be without you
Those wires, connecting you to alarms,
seem to have no interest in rest
I saw a toddler cross the intersection,
unsupervised, a solid hour after dark
This world will likely never make
much sense to me
Your breathing’s been so shallow
while you dream that your snoring’s
stopped altogether;
apparently I’ve forgotten how to sleep
without that previously-irksome sound
The irony of hospitals isn’t lost on me;
saving lives, when none of us
can be saved forever
And, since those larger timelines
impart a heavy sense of irrelevance,
goodness truly must be in the little things
Our cameras have yet to show the fur baby
sitting on his windowsill
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to pretending
that any of this is normal
Leaving you still hurts, every time
But, soon enough, I believe, you’ll be home;
maybe then we’ll luck our way
away from tragedy for so long
that every survivor will say of us,
“They were blest to have so many
happy years together.”
For these hurdles change nothing;
we share the kind of love
which others aspire to
We remain; something stronger than
the mere memory of sunlit smiles
We persist, unfairness be damned
No comments:
Post a Comment