While watching you asleep, soul-sinking thoughts
flood to the fore on rising waves of doubt.
How can I brave tomorrow’s chill without
your touch, your footsteps, and those million watts
of magic in your smile? My heart allots
itself a single, stifled whisper. “No!”
I have no voice, no choice. I must let go
midst whirlpools of what-ifs and what-if-nots.
For you were bound to someone else in strands
of interwoven loyalty before
we ever met. My love for you demands
your leaving will not rip me to the core.
I stroke your little baby grandchild hands
to waken you; your mother’s at the door.
2002 Mary Boren