POEM: before

  

taken 7/09 the eve of my mastecomy

I weep for the earnest face
framed by smooth hair
her calm betrayed
by frightened eyes
that visible dread
almost enviable
a dull blade
compared to experience


my tears shed from a future
filled with unexpected loss
heaped upon the pyre
of what she had anticipated
sobbing for what could have been
for my present reflection
more unrecognizable, yet
just tauntingly familiar enough


I long to tightly encircle
that intact visage
protected in my arms
stroke her smooth hair
oh that lovely smooth hair
and tell her, murmur
whisper in her ear softly
something…but what?

I cannot tell her the truth
too soon to reason away
this much heartless reality
so I would tell her only
that I will try to love her
realizing it won’t be enough
but knowing it is all that’s left
for us both