Where the Joy has Gone

Where the Joy has Gone

You’ve asked where the joy has gone while
life lingers, a sliver, a thread, and leaves so slowly
you barely see it depart. You want her home, your love,
your friend, your life, your heart.

You pray with tears, and say with words; anxiety’s
hope has exposed each nerve while you wait,
wait only, while other lonelies walk down the linoleum halls.

She is fragile, a stick-figure filled with decades together;
her bony hand still reaches for your face, your knee,
your hands to keep company her shallow breathing.
There are still stars in her eyes.

You eat less, (the nurses microwave your
frozen foods supper), and drive half a hundred to her
and back home each day.
Her remedy and your love hold sway over
your own health or hunger. How can you
contemplate
better care when she whose life you share
is shrinking beyond human aid.

You’ve asked where the joy has gone
while your friends wait with you,
and nothing we say can pull you away
from grief none of us-smile or frown-
imagine and only close our eyes and look away
at the question about joy today.

Prayer is sloppy, holy comfort puddled crusty,
answers senseless and God is untamable even

By the countless buckets our tears may fill.
Exotic, not domestic, we sit together while
God-in-heaven roars; God-with-us so close
we do not comprehend Him at all.

You’ve asked where the joy has gone
on a day of cloud curtained pain, while
sorrow remains sharp; joy hides and also waits
a more appropriate day.