I didn’t recognize the world anyone on that late
March afternoon; a light breeze attempted to kiss my cheek
but the pain inside me ignored nature’s opportunity
to cuddle with my life. The sun’s smooth radiance barely
blinded my eyes as I drove to find out what was wrong with me
and in that moment, for the first time I could see
that time was not waiting on me. Traffic continued
as the heartbeats of laughter echoed in an early spring
vibrancy around me; I was just the silence drifting through
the wind on a day threatening to be my last—
In the parking lot I heard voices scurrying as I watched
feet echoing in various movements; some sadden from loss
and some joyous in birth and some like my own
just trying to find that next step.
Thirty-four years of age with a family history
of strength is what described me to the Emergency
room nurse as she handed me a towel to wipe the sweat
that streamlined down my face. There was something inside
of me that didn’t want to be a part of me anymore;
a feeling I’ve never felt before. Then came the waiting;
I sat and watched wheelchairs filled with broken bones
and high fevers waiting in agony; I watched children
covered with masks barely able to breathe waiting
for the right medicine to restore their youth; I watched
a woman seventy-five years of age battling the fear
of dementia as she was waiting to remember her own name
and I watched in the reflection of a window
a man bent over in pain; a man writing poetry
inside his own mind, even in times of extreme pain.
I watched him for hours as he was waiting—
I was waiting for another chance to live.
© 2011
Tarringo T. Vaughan
