You reach for me
and I can't bring myself to touch your outstretched hand
"I'm getting tired of writing these letters"
You say after another written apology
For aggression
For abuse by any other name would smell as sweet
It's my fault, why can't I ever admit when I'm wrong
If I gave credence to your valid point you wouldn't have to resort to these tactics
You don't remember what you did
It's a shame that the reasonable point you had is now lost in all this pain and shame
I can't rescue us from this fate
Long suffering, you and I
For the sins of our forefathers
For the neglect of young eyes
He was so handsome in his youth
So sure in his ways
Who would have known
He would be the bane of my older days
Teaching me how to go without love
How to work without reward
Am I narcissistic?
Or am I just bored
Can I be a mother after failing with my sister
It wasn't my duty
But it is my prison
I look at you through the bars
Beautiful and pure
I want to touch you but I can't
I'm not enough
Too unsure
I can't give you what you need
What I know you deserve
Remember when your eyes were so full of hope
Before the mood stabilizers and the realization that alcoholics can never truly love you
The naivety of youth
Fertile, reliable
It's what this place runs on
Maybe you thought he would save you
Maybe you thought he could save himself
Instead of drowning in beer, falling in love with the sound of his own voice
Forgetting we were even here
The barmaid - the one with the low ponytail he thought was so demure
I'm sure it killed you that she caught his eye
And even more that he made me a representation of her
The apple of his eye
He sits, vibrant, energetic, chatty
Telling us about his workout routine
His diet, healthy - with garlic and oregano oil
He tells us he has no symptoms
Tells, no... implores us that he is fine
Me and the attending make eye contact
His pathology report is bad
His cancer is aggressive and has already blocked off part of his stomach
His appetite, he says is good and he has lost no weight - maybe the cancer is gone?
She shakes her head, "No, it doesn't work that way"
He tells us his heart stopped once as a young man, nearly drowned - is that why the arteries in his heart are blocked?
"No, that's probably been in progress for a while."
He's dejected, but not defeated
He tells us oregano oil will probably help
We start talking about chemotherapy, about surgery - about whether or not he would survive the surgery...
He falls silent for a while
Finally, he says that he doesn't wish to live to 120
That he wants to make room for the next person in line to thrive
That like plants, our roots have to die to allow for younger plants to spread out
His mother told him that
And in his culture, old men walked into the snow one day and never came back.
Maybe we could find it in our hearts not to be so afraid
Of every breaking wave
Each passing tide
Gather our minds to fight insanity
Not shatter so easily on every shoreline
Fail to heed the siren's call of doubt
Perfection is not a manageable thing
You cannot hope to control what is wild and rare
You just breathe it in
and try not to let the power of it drown you
If you try to hold too tightly to beauty,
you lose the essence of it
Expectations like mist
She couldn't see me while I was scouring his medical records in the work room
Terrified of making the wrong decision
And I couldn't see her while she was scouring his face in his room
Terrified I was making the wrong decision
He's holding the scalpel like a shield
So that life doesn't have to happen to hard
Scrub cap, a helmet by all accounts
Difficult to say now, what it was that first burned him down
This man turned pile of ashes
Eyes blue like drapes
Placid and unaffected by the carnage
The song rises softly and then all at once
Glint of a knife making the saving cut
The gasp of breath from an airway lost
Now found again - new, bloody, reborn
And when all the instruments are put away
Patients tucked in, families talked to
When blood soaked shoes are traded in for
the ones the world will not shy away from
What becomes of this phoenix
The man who sings a song covered in sweat,
sprayed with blood
This bird they admire but fear
Does he not soften to think of it
Maybe this is what burns him down
Before he's called again
to rise from the ashes
