Monday, February 16, 2015



Fighter planes came low
Over the house all morning.
Ben looked concerned, “just planes,”
My son said, but why here,
Why now?  Somehow something
Had changed.  A siren howled close by.
They were coming for us once again.

There is an important obligation
Not to discriminate, not to
Tell Susan they can’t give her
A transplant when she is old,
But the chief surgeon
Confessed the chance
Infinitesimally small.

We answered the call
And agreed to tests, as much
As they liked.  She never
Complained, but she is weary
Especially of the more
Stressful demands and
Of the treatment.

In my dream she was
As beautiful as she used to be.
I took her in saying,
“You have always been 
Beautiful.”  She looked at me
Out of her torment, crying “it is too
Hard now.  I’m not like that any more.”

I woke suddenly, stumbling
Up out of my lounge
Chair, unable to keep
My balance as the room
Spun.  I lurched down
The hall to see for myself the
Soft rise and fall of her breathing.

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