Saturday, June 27, 2015

On Help


When she was an hour away,
More counting the time
To find parking, I would
Feel guilty not going or
Being there more often.
Now she is here, heavily
Breathing oxygen and getting

Percocet while I’m doing
All I’m able, realizing
She doesn’t know all
I’m doing.  And now
I’m borne down by
Those who come and stay
Or talk too long saying

They want to help.
There is no help
Which they would know
If they realized
The immensity of what
Is transpiring on a
Bed beyond their grasp.

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