In the bruised-blue light before dawn,
I run my fingers down the length
Of surgical scars that crisscross
Your solar plexus taking the appearance of
The mauling of bear claws
Wakefully watching,
Trying to detect spasms of pain
Twisting upon your face as you sleep
Hoping dreams are not scathed
Chuckle to myself: Think
What a pack rat you are!
Unread Reader’s Digest still plastic enwrapped
A pile of books on the great battles of World War II
A jumbled heap beside the bed
So unwilling to let go:
Tattered flannel shirts, threadbare socks with holes,
Valentines from grade school first loves,
Your collection of comic books:
Famous Monsters of Filmland, Sergeant Rock
I try to think of ways to comfort you
Warming poultices, cooling salves
Soothing herbal balms,
A tall, cold glass of milk
Angel food cake with raspberries, fresh and ripe,
Vanilla Ice Cream with butterscotch sauce
I know this cannot be enough
I press the palm of my hand against your forearm
Warm, bumpy with the scars of needle sticks
I find reassurance in your pulse