Wednesday, December 5, 2007



He was beautiful
with shiny chestnut hair
a quirky, lovable intelligence,
honors, and awards, offices
held in school.
She wanted to die every day,
but jogged past houses where
bacon and waffles and laughter
drifted out and filled the air,
while her house became dark, despairing
with frequent sobbing,
trips to the hospital,
the doctor, college.
The competent,
self-confident she
was obliterated.
She mind-talked
angrily with Mary
on Christmas Eves,
telling her this was worse than crucifixion
because it was his lot
maybe for 60 more years.
Slowly she began to see,
it was not just their tragedy
and belonged to everybody.
She realized how connected we
are, by his friends’ despair,
and when a friend’s daughter
was killed
she could express her sympathy
and not, as she’d heard some do,
cross the street
to avoid the woman's agony.
She learned that
she had to get up every day.
Her heart was broken,
but she was out of eggs,
so she did what she had to do.
She is not the woman I knew.

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