There She Is.
When I go into the garden, there she is.
The specter 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 conscious.
It would hurt her too much.
I hear this 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.