Tuesday, May 19, 2009


Your illness gnaws at me
Its perpetual voice
Chews through the muscle
The sinew, the hope
I call to God – whatever that is,
I berate myself –
I fill myself with silence
I pour the darkness
Through a sieve
I decline phone calls
I gag on words
On sentiment
The radio is switched off
Your illness my Achilles Heel
I bleed resistance and purge platitudes
How is your mother?
What a deafening blow
I soften in my cynicism
Harden at my lack of faith
Quick to anger –
I cover bruises with masking tape
I have emerged something else from this fire
I clutch bandages and disinfectant
I laugh at my gallows humour
Religious icons
Smile and fret
I surprise myself with this vulnerable girl who retreats
To dance in shadows, who burns in the sun
I fill your cup with water
Offer up pills and potions
Shame at the inadequacy
Of words
My voice small across the glacier
How are you feeling?
Tiny offerings skim the water,
Sinking ripples in their wake
I marvel at the clumsy thought
There is no exile in imagination
Instead I watch you from the door way
Peer in to the half-dark room
I send silent assurance
I weep at complication
For on this journey I cannot go
I weave the light like spider webs
I am reminded of Odysseus
Daedalus and Icarus full flight
You alone, sent to kill the Minotaur
While we watch
While we break
While we wait.