When Puppydoc wasn’t working, she would step right next door to her home…the hospital guesthouse.
There, waiting for her, would be the afternoon tea…fully prepared and served by her host sister, little Esterita…
…and together, they would then chat about their busy day while they took their tea…with two lumps of sugar, of course.
😉
Cursed by thirst unquenchable
beneath a blazing sky,
Gaze distorted by burning mist
that wells within her eyes.
A soul that weeps before mankind,
for truths they’ve never seen–
of jaded hearts, of bleeding flesh,
of wounds that lie between.
An angel to the suffering,
a guardian to the soul,
a seraph who has fallen,
sunk within beguiling shoal.
Who will deliver this fragile one
whose eyes, too worn to cry?
To lift her up on mended wings
into the blazing sky?
•
Bitterness.
Each word, a slap.
Each consonant, piercing.
Bursting in like a winter’s storm,
you permeated into our lives.
We wanted to help you,
but we only came to fear you.
Many shook their heads in pity.
Some avoided you.
Others talked about you.
Contempt.
Each gesture, scornful.
Each insult, stinging.
My attempts to talk to you
only seemed to anger you more.
You terrified me. Yet I yearned.
To see. To know. To understand.
I knew you were frustrated.
Your disease, unforgiving.
Slowly devouring.
I knew you were discouraged.
Your body, powerless.
Slowly succumbing.
But why wouldn’t you let us care for you?
Desperation.
Each day, the same.
Each encounter, fruitless.
You turned us away again and again.
Until one day I confronted you.
I asked you why.
And you told me.
I know you don’t really care. This is only your job.
My job.
It all made sense.
The bitterness. The coldness. The distancing.
I understood.
Stepping forward,
leaving behind the pride, the decorum,
my arms enclosed around you.
The fear escaping my racing heart
only after you made a move to wipe your eyes.
You then collapsed into me.
My shoulder, an insulation
to the sound of choked sobs.
You never said a word.
But in your cry I heard your anguish.
I heard desolation.
I heard relief.
Things were never the same after that.
Your bitterness was gone.
Your words, softer.
Your eyes, warmer.
You allowed us to care for you,
remaining strong even
as your disease progressed.
Until one day, like winter’s snow,
the seasons beckoned for you to leave.
But even then, as you faded away,
you reminded me of the day everything changed–
The day I gave you the hug.
•
Dear Diary,
What do I write about when I have nothing to write about?
When my lips have nothing to say?
Do I paint for you portraits
of hollow chimes adrift
in dew whose songs
mesmerize with
each sway of
the wind’s
caress?
Do I liken you to a single rose
who has but endured a
winter’s wrath to
weave a quilt
of fragrant
hues?
Or do I reflect upon my life as it is,
to tell you how much I treasure
the privilege of being able to
help you, to care for
you, whenever
you are
ill?
Do I try to express how tremendous my
heart feels when I tell you that it is
going to be alright, or when we
know that it may not, that
we will conquer it
together?
Do I admit to you that whenever you
smile, my day is brightened,
my heart is warmed,
and that when you
weep, my soul
tears with
you?
And do I tell you how much I appreciate you-
your presence, your courage- as you
battle through your illnesses,
uncertainties, and fears-
while reminding you
that you are an
inspiration
to me?
So what do I do when my lips can find no words?
I suppose I let the heart speak.
•
