A PRAYER FOR THE ONE WHO WATCHES AND WAITS
She sits
She waits for the nurse’s words of – assurance?
Reversing crossed legs, she rehearses responses
for the outcome of this round
Doors part, she holds her breath, guards her heart
and exhales as the news pours forth
He’s stable, able to speak, to move
Readying himself for the next step in the process
the peculiar art of surviving survival
But she
knows the names of every nurse on every shift
And she
knows the feel of styrofoam against her lips
the acid burn of instant coffee
The gelatinous gruel they call gravy
instant whipped condensed processed creamy cafeteria mashed potatoes
(damn, forgot to bring my muesli…)
She watches and waits and can’t using her cell phone
She sits on a plastic chair in a sweltering waiting room
with a flat-screen TV bigger than an MRI
Idol’s on
She stares without seeing, numb
hoping for good news to come
She’s alone for now
She likes it that way, when people stay away
they say they pray for him every day
She sits. She waits. She prays.
And God watches over her tonight
by the light of a fluorescent full moon
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 
mypoeticlicense
One of the most horrible ways to have to spend time… You did a superb job of amplifing the bits of the wait’s misery, and the length of the actual wait itself. The food, the chair, the TV, the light… images wonderfully depicted.
– Dina
Dee
wow this hit home. Hubby was sick – peritonitis and then later a kidney transplant. I lived there for so long I was giving people directions. This could have been about me. I knew patients and some family members who went out to smoke and who was having a bad day and where to do laundry or get wireless, and which waitress in the cafe would fix a latte for you even when they were officially closed.
Sharp Little Pencil
This poem has indeed gotten the most feedback of any so far. I wrote it in honor of my sister-in-law, whose husband fought a courageous battle with an aggressive cancer. He was “finally healed” in the end, knowing that his final treatment, the most aggressive of all, might kill him, but he vowed to keep on trying. She was so supportive of him, and I was thinking of all those nights… she is a truly strong woman and mentioned some of the same things to me about becoming more familiar with the hospital than some of the employees, especially the night shift. Dee, may I ask, is your husband still alive?
uponthewingsofnight
This poem reminded me of when my brother Duane passed away from throat cancer. I was not able to be by his bedside when it happened but from what I was told he looked awful. I feel it was his way of protecting his little brother one final time. You capture the feel of the experience so well, my friend.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks, Brett. I remember talking with you about Duane’s passing. Anyone who has sat in those damned plastic chairs drinking bad coffee… knows this. And yes, some people die when their loved ones are NOT there, because it would be too hard to let go and also too punishing to the survivor, and Duane must have loved you very much. PEace, Amy
uponthewingsofnight
Duane didn’t really express his love for me for many years but in his final years we made it clear to one another that we definitely loved each other as brothers should. He also came out in his final years as well, which I think relieved a lot of mental burdens for him. Brett
Sharp Little Pencil
How difficult it is for men to come out… easier for girls, I think, because the “plumbing” is different… also, there are certain stereotypes that men are boxed into, making it difficult to be who they really are. Glad you found the right balance with your bro, Brett. Helps you carry on with no regrets, and perhaps that was his gift to you? Amy