Captive Audience

 

I think you would agree

that we are both

fierce and reasonable and forgiving.

 

We held hands after your stroke—

I was sixty-two

and you needed help down the stairs.

 

Your grip was vice-like.

 

You gave me your hands;

the square shape,

olive tone,

nimble fingers for fine motor skills—

yours for scalpels; mine for string instruments.

 

When you lost your voice

it was suddenly easy to talk to you.

I told you about

my dog at the beach,

the rats in my yard,

a new pain in my leg,

that I worry I have not yet earned my right to exist,

and I feel so lonely I could choke,

how I sometimes I loathe my life—

the one you gave me.

 

You grasp my truth,

keep it safe.

You are such a good listener

now that you have no choice.