For my father:
Through yonder window breaks
Kneeling at the bedside table
Somewhere in the midst
The feet of death hang
Monument of the quiet man’s strength
Over hope, the sing-song memory
Through white-coat salutations
Little comfort in the night’s long hour
When he is naught but dreams
Night’s crystal rain
He is the only one, he tells himself
The wrinkles and the lines, in pallid sheets
If he can make it through the night—
Hope will find them in the dawn.
My submission to this week’s One Shot Wednesday, and one that holds a special place with me. I wrote this a few days ago when, if you will remember, I was caught in the throes of a massive worry in my own life, revolving around my ailing father. Since then, he has undergone surgery and is apparently recovering now…and while that recovery time will be long, it is still a comfort to know that he will be better again.
This work revolves mostly around the feelings of waiting, the uncertainty, the hoping…the great pain that comes with watching and being unable to do anything in those long nights.