| May. 28th, 2009 @ 04:04 am (no subject) |
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The Octopus Boy
You lay there,
on crisp, clean white sheets,
tubes, wires, cables
and other contraptions I haven't proper
names for attached to your tiny, pale limbs-
taped, tied, and binded.
Your veins no longer viable.
Fighting an enemy
which has invaded
your blood,
bloated your belly
like a famine victim.
Transparent tubing jetting from
your various stomas and orifices-
my little octopus boy,
listening to Bob Marley
and still smiling.
Your ventilator hums
that familiar tune we know
and depend upon hearing.
Numbers, settings, and more tubes,
blue and green and the clear one that looks
like a tiny accordion
leading to your throat,
keep you alive.
I know, like all of us,
but you, especially,
are borrowed for a time,
yet unknown,
how long it will be,
I admit I am selfish because
I want you to stay here with me a bit longer
and let me sing you more of your favorite songs.
Gift me with a bit more time,
although I shall never be ready
when you decide
you have had enough of
the mortal coil which binds you
and when organs start to fail,
and resistance to antibiotics
continues to build walls around
infection and disease.
I want to hear your laughter,
see your smile
for a while longer
because
I just won't know what to do with myself
once you are gone.
Even now, the silence of you not being at home
is eerily frightening.
All of my life has been
built around you, yet
sixteen years is not enough time
for me, your mother.
I had dreams for you, like all mommy's do,
but ours had to be made as we
went along this precarious and unknown road.
I'll take the roadblocks, the detours,
just as long as I know we'll make it home someday.
As long as we make it home.
Where your bed,
your favorite stuffed toys,
and a new boom box
waits for you.
I leave the lights on
day and night
until you come home.
Until you come home.
~L.Tate
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