Al Purdy

Poem by Al Purdy

You are ill and so I lead you away
and put you to bed in the dark room
-you lie breathing softly and I hold your hand
feeling the fingertips relax as sleep comes

You will not sleep more that a few hours
and the illness is less serious than my anger or cruelty
and the dark bedroom is like a foretaste of other darknesses
to come later which all of us must endure alone
but here I am permitted to be with you

After a while in sleep your fingers clutch tightly
and I know that whatever may be happening
the fear coiled in dream or the bright trespass of pain
there is nother at all I can do except hold your hand
and not go away.

Write. Talk. Tell me everything.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: