Tired

 

Being tired yourself is awful. Of course it is. But living with someone who is tired, that comes with a quite different sense of helplessness. Simple language and construction for this one. 

 

If there was some fine smelling-salt to hold

Beneath your face – a candle, in praise of you –

I’d wake you. If there were some genuine crystal,

Bloodier than red, weighted like a heart

In the hand, I’d press its lifeblood magic,

Share its fire; if manna were a food

I’d serve a feast of spirit: no, more than that,

I’d make enough for lunch tomorrow too,

Tupperware the joy of life. If there

Were some fast liquor, like sparks of lightning, poured,

I’d give a shot. Should amber-scented oils

Rubbed into your tired muscles to the trick,

I could persuade the Gordian knot to part:

I wish that there were something I could do.

But somehow, there appears no potency

In art or nature that can keep this warmth

Between us. I’ll do what I can, but please,

Please, do not fall asleep.

 

 

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