Useless
Nothing to do
But think and think and think
And wait
But for an easy end,
For peace
But underscored
With prayers for acceptance,
For strength,
For courage,
I lack all of them
Nothing to say
But write and write and write
And wait
Comes from waiting
For death
For a storm
For a life
For healing
I have done them all
I grow weary of waiting
We talk logistics,
powers of attorney
the latest word from doctors.
The patient’s battle,
Like planning a siege on a city:
Where would the biggest challenge be?
What were the options? Where to place the biggest guns,
The line of retreat? When do we raise the hue and cry “Fall back?”
How many did we have in the fight, and would they stand?
We do not talk of the end,
of how we might surrender, if we must wave the white flag.
We cannot speak of real fears,
the stomach churning havoc wreaking knot
that has settled in our bowels,
but content ourselves with details,
like quartermasters making lists,
providing for eventualities,
counting our way through the battle.
Our captain lies abed
assaulted by creeping, terrible foes
warring for a life
and we cannot voice it.
but we are silent on the subject,
talk of other things among ourselves.
Fear is contagious,
And so each of us a sergeant
modeling bravado before the assault,
shouting orders, keeping busy, cracking wise.
If the battle is lost
we deal then.
But now
we fight.
