It’s Hard

It’s hard to see you lying there
wide eyed, staring, mouth agape
at something only you can see
floating high up in the ceiling
requiring your full focus.
It’s hard to know what to say
if you can hear the words
as I whisper your name
along side your bed
leaning closer to your ear
saying how much you are loved.
It’s hard to watch you thrash about
when I hold your hand
recounting my silly foibles
and laughing a little too loudly
hoping you’ll know it’s me.
It’s hard to believe you are here
confined to this bed
locked in this betraying body,
the same one that flew midair
trailed by swirling silk scarfs
as you leapt from your circus trapeze.
It’s hard to believe
you have survived and thrived
beyond the Nation’s worse disaster
coming out the sweet southern rose
with dignity and grace from above.
It’s hard to watch your beloved
caring, so gently, touching, cooing
in a way I have not seen,
promising a future of wellness
in days and days at home.
It’s hard to wonder how you feel
what you think, if you’re scared,
if you even know we are here.
It’s just hard.

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