You watch the difficult truth befall him
A cold lump
Like the meat of a cracked egg,
Dropped on the table before us.
Quietly it confronts him:
A tumor, removed with hope some months ago -
An age ago, it seems -
How fondly he had hoped…
You feel it now under your fingertips,
A hard knot come back to tie up his belly.
You tell him only of “another operation”,
Uncertain, through the translation,
Of how much he understands.
You would not, after all, pin down the facts at once,
Would not see him struggling to escape,
When there is no escape.
But he also knows.
He sits, his legs crossed tight,
Bent a little, his arms hugging his chest.
His jaw trembles ever so slightly
And the muscles of his cheek
Draw tense in slender cords.
In the chill of the overcast day
You see him grow thinner before you.
Already his skull seems brittle as eggshell,
The blue veins tortured and alive with meaning.
No, better not say, “meaning”.
(It is but the surface you can see;
I only hint at what happened there.)
You sit, secure in the comfort of your next meal,
Warm to the core, turning soon to other tasks,
While he enters a most private place
Where no one goes beside him;
And we know only of his going
And of the vague awakening of terrific fear.