Vigil - April 13 2025

 

Vigil

April 13 2025

It’s all waiting.

Counting the seconds,

cooling your heels,

watching the clock.

Idling

in gridlocked traffic,

the hourglass of life

emptying as fast

as impatience overflows.

Keeping your place

as step-by-step

the line starts and stops,

shuffles ahead,

shifts restively;

torn

between soldiering on

and capitulation.

I think back

to when the waiting was the point.

When it’s the best part,

because then

anything is possible

and all of it good.

When we were happy

with just being there,

bantering, and laughing, and losing track of time.

When we felt belonging

acceptance

invincibly paired.

I think back to when she left.

To how long I’d known

the spell had been broken

but stayed hopeful nevertheless;

stretching out

whatever time we had,

treasuring

every moment, good or bad

which it mostly was.

I think back to being alone.

To how empty I felt

finding the handwritten note

that smelled vaguely of her.

And how empty I feel;

still on my own

in the uncertain drift

of everafter existence.

I think back to his deathbed.

Slumped in hospital chairs

after all had been said,

watching and waiting as time ticked away.

Refusing to admit

my unworthy wish

even to myself;

that death would steal in,

his suffering lift,

this futile sitting end.

A consolation, of sorts, for the line

that goes on forever,

the letter

that must be lost in the mail.

Because eventually

in the fullness of time

the waiting ends for all of us

as it’s always done.

Too many poems that allude to death, which I’m sure says a lot about me.

Still, I hope this one isn’t too depressing.