| Compassion for Megan You call me on a Saturday night and you are crying You ask me to stay with you because you are alone. I am a thousand miles away and I want so bad to hold you To ease the hurt and soothe the pain that comes From being alive and wanting to be whole. Somewhere in the middle of this excruciating miracle Literally between sobs and sighs, We wonder about the strange marriage Of pain and healing. Suffer, die, rise-- So it goes, and you learn to keep your eyes On the rise. It's a tough lesson, And little consolation. Yet there is something irreplaceable here-- Something in the act Of pressing my fingers, so gently, To your wounds, then making them my own. This pain, it becomes precious to me Because it is yours. And now I now That compassion is as strange a thing As healing. Ancient Paths Literary Magazine fall, 2002 Time of Singing Literary Magazine spring, 2003 |