Devotion Poem, In Sight
Came home from hosp yest. Surgery seems to have freed some nerve that were caught/inflamed and there has been allowed. Some small movements showing hope of further. Progress. Here, I remain in a constant battle with post-surgery pain, and feeling unworthy of my continuous calls to my husband for his assistance. This poem was written this morning as I lay between the love that surpasses any kind of binding paralysis and death that may free its stifling but leave a never ending, never mending pain.
Devotion Poem, In Sight
Before you
I lie on a tiny bed, motionless
In a tightly woven cocoon of pain,
Awaiting the freedom of wellness to lift
My limbs into some realm of comfort;
While you sit in the corner of our blue sofa,
As far away as only the length of your height,
Alert to a catch of my every groan
Or the possible twitching of nerves within my limbs.
But, it is now the monumentals of the invisible
Which I try so to send to you, and
Which I keep praying might be seen — the things
Of truly interacting in love which I yearn to relay,
Like rising and extending my arms to your glances,L
Like not being needy, but able, instead, to serve you,
Even a warm cup of coffee on these cooler
Autumn mornings, or to fetch the pens and sketchbooks
For myself, taking the further tasking from you —
If only not to be a continuous rack of chores for you;
I lay in this dark cocoon of disability
And try to project all the colors and symphonies
Of love caught aching within my heart and unable
To branch this short distance to actually wrap
In your arms or rest upon your shoulder. I curse
The separating swells of paralysis that divide us!
It astounds me...how completely able are the motions
Of paralysis, be they physical or emotional,
At casting divisions
Between what pretends a state of death
And what seeks to present living...
And that brings on the tears
For it is only the slightest sign in the rise and fall
Of breathing from within this cocoon
That shows life remains. I am not gone,
And death has not gripped our space
In its vacuum. Our love, although so slightly
Able to ripple the mere distance, does breathe
And thus, touch. Oh, so how I pray
The touching
Remains and increases ...as it takes
The gracing of God
To keep this stay of love and life within us.
For, I could be dead, but, no, even as I lay here
Within this aspiring cocoon, I am still
Beside you, within your sight,
Within your receipt of my projected
Realms of the colors of my love, so vibrant always for you.
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