And I Know I Can Do Nothing For Her

suddenly eighty-four
this woman I have watched for fifty years
her back low now
since the old man
moved in with death
and she didn’t
alone and not knowing
how to be alone.
“How do you feel today? ” I ask.
She says, “The problems of life.”
no more than that
each breath a whisper of absence
as little by little she drowns in a puddle.

by Charles Chaim Wax

Comments (3)

To be left alone, and to lose companionship, unbearable..but to lose ones independence in society, ...makes coping difficult if ever possible. Great poem.
Your presence alone is something done for another, a gift of interaction of acknowledgment of humanity shared that is a lot more than nothing. Compassion is the Buddha's way and it is evident in each word. Fine poem.
Just being there is sometimes enough. Praise for your warm concern for this lonely soul. Regards, Sandra Fowler