There It Is

Painting by Todd Krasovetz


There It Is

When I go into the garden,
there she is. The spector holds up
her arms to show that her hands
are eaten off. She is silent
because of the agony. There is
blood on her face. I can see
she has done this to herself.
So she would not feel the other pain.
And it is true, she does not feel it.
She does not even see me.
It is not she anymore, but the pain
itself that moves her. I look
and think how to forget.
How can I live while she stands there?
And if I take her life what will
that make of me. I cannot touch
her, make her unconscious.
It would hurt her too much.
I hear the sound all through the air
that was her eating, but it is on
its own now, completely separate
from her. I think I am supposed to look.
I am not supposed to turn away.
I am supposed to see each detail
and all expression gone.
My God, I think if paradise is
to be here it will have
to include her.

Linda Gregg

from "All of it Singing."