I look into the empty starless night,
The blackened expanse reflecting
The void in my own heart.
The place where gatherings, meals,
Conversation, laughter, exchanges of gifts
Should have lived.
Now disappointment reigns—
The disappointment of cancellation
After cancellation,
Where plans were made,
Postponed,
And cancelled again.
Not for unwillingness or indecision,
But for illness, mine and others,
And this unrelenting state of vulnerability,
That hateful word—
‘Immunocompromised’—
That compromises all the joys
And best-laid plans
Of my life.
That hateful word—‘immunocompromised’—that compromises all the joys and best-laid plans of my life.
There were loved ones
Long absent
I was longing to meet again,
Loved ones
I was hoping to meet
For the first time ever.
But the omnipotent illness took over.
I made the ghastly decision
To put my health first.
I made the ghastly decision to put my health first.
My health remains intact,
But so what?
It is a lonely, tottering, precarious-at-best health,
Falteringly kept, easily broken.
It means I must say no
Again and again
To people, opportunities, special occasions,
To love and to life.
I look at the post-party pics
And see the void where I should have been,
The vacant seat at the table.
The vast expanse
Within me
Threatens to grow larger.
One day it may consume me in one swallow.
For now, I inhale
The good, clean air
Of the hallowed night
Hoping it will cleanse me.
I inhale the good, clean air of the hallowed night, hoping it will cleanse me.
I stare into the sky
And wonder
When the first star will appear.
I exhale—
A silent prayer, a plea—
For the universe to show me
Its beauty once again,
Remind me
Good things are still possible.