Poem

On second thought, this is a stanza from the poem “Her Long Illness” by Donald Hall.  This one has resonated with me the most so far. 

 

     He hovered beside Jane’s bed,

solicitous: “What can I do?”

     It must have been unbearable

while she suffered her private hurts

     to see his worried face

looming above her, always anxious to do

     something when there was

exactly nothing to do.  Inside him,

     some four-year-old

understood that if he was good — thoughtful,

     considerate, beyond

reproach, perfect — she would not leave him.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Poem

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )

Connecting to %s