It’s a strange thing to manage: of you and not, it, itself, an otherness,
living and breathing, in and yet beyond you, insidiously skulking around.
Nerve slasher, I call it. Breath thief, dignity embezzler, hope arsonist.
From your last kiss before sleeping to your first caress when awaking
it is the demon that haunts you in between: silent, unseen, crippling.
Is it possible to make such a one a friend?
This poem was written by my sister, Cindy, who is currently—and heroically has been for some years—facing severe medical issues.
Thank you for reading Pain. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph was taken at Harkness Memorial Park, on the Connecticut side of the Long Island Sound. To see my photography, please visit the Book of Bokeh blog.
Poem © Lucinda Lenora Hayden. Photograph and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved.