waiting for a tragedy

though the

reality of death

enveloping

everyone we love

(swallowing our worlds up whole

like a vacuum doing in those

ants that cruise along the surface of

the carpet (working, working, working)

until that fateful day when the

human occupants see fit to destroy

civilizations of insects which may

ironically, inevitably, outlive themselves

if/when the nukes fly, the biochems

spray, or the governments of the world

decide its time to accidentally leak

those wellsprings of smallpox, etc. said

to be eradicated & merely history

back out into the veins of our decrepit

species),

looms over us all,

it shows its face ever so more vibrantly

when the loved one is older, very sick, but

determined to outlive the cancer spreading

inside them---

with the persistence of Hitchens,

they run on the treadmill &

though one has to admire the fight,

it is quite difficult, as one who cares so

deeply, to not see the need for rest to be

something which at this point, should be

of utmost importance.

 

so the loved ones worry,

day & night,

night & day,

because it feels as if the day is coming closer

when the person they love

will be gone forever &

the plethora of emotion ranges from

sadness to anger (an obvious sadness, but an

anger that ones hands are tied---that one cannot

stop the cancer on their own & that no one has

the right to tell/ask anyone how to spend their

last days, even if all they do is work)---

so we wait.

we wait for the tragedy to come,

a rehearsal for our own

individual

end,

but one so much more painful &

terrifying---

like staring out the window of a train,

seeing an explosion & pure chaos up

ahead &

the train is slowing down,

with the doors locked (doors for which

you have no key) &

even the air inside the train car

is getting thicker, hotter &

as sweat begins to bead on the forehead,

it truly is getting harder & harder to

breathe.