Poetry

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I don’t complain of pain
or the lack of it.

When I think of the intensity of the pain suffered by so many others, I tremble,

for, by way of contrast, the pain I have known is of a kind so slight, that I am hardly sure I even felt it.

Rather than have pain spread evenly over life
like butter over a slice of bread

I prefer to let it compress
into one unbearable instant.

So what does one like me do


With that disparity?

At least one can pray

And those prayers can function

Like an IV pole upright beside

Dispensing little surges of relief

And coveted droplets of rest.

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