As I was in London, I stood in the St. Pancras
International Train Station, met with the concrete creation of my abstract thoughts. For 28
years, I stood in contemplation, in something in my mind that was just like
this station. Many trains, many
destinations, many distractions, yet only one train led back to you. I had been
so distracted by the cost of my train ticket and all the thousands of people
lost, like me, that I almost missed the love train. I almost lost you. I almost gave up on us. At "that" time, I
was missing the love inside me that could fuel me to act. But I have it now, so I
finally decided to get outside of my head and contact you. When I called and told
you I was coming back to you, all that I loved, I could hear the excitement,
still, in your voice. So, I had to act for us. The “other” trains I traveled had
taken me away from you for good purpose but had also brought me back with that same
purpose. I was ready to leave the station and get on the love train, to you.
I know how this should be: I've seen it, you see, In soap operas, Movies. Your eyes are closed, As if in sleep. Perfect peachy skin Atop a snow white pillow Under flawlessly matched sheets. The heart monitor, Quiet bleeps. The ventilator, A steady hiss. None of that is this. Your eyes Stuck open Seeing without sight Yellow sclera Dumb tears streaming. Tubes, taped to your face Delicate skin torn Where nurses Repositioned them To feed you To heal you You never liked being told What to do. Your whole torso spasms Spastic, Every 40 seconds. A machine Forces your lungs to act. Your hands are warm From hemodialysis But don't respond When we each grab one Give it a kiss. We spend the day Brushing your hair Telling stories Singing songs. Praying prayers. You're not there. Hospital staff Are more lovely If less pretty Than on TV. When the time comes They gently walk us From the room Close the curtai...
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