A Poem For Pain
Take two of these and call me in the morning
I hear these words heal people or have healed at least one person before.
As she lay there next to a nexus of serpentine wires, a monitor quantified her state; I looked to
her without an offer.
The machines, they sing to one another from room to room as a call for help. The nurses, they
walk in to assure us they’re just machines.
I’ve heard that some poems have influenced or changed the face of the earth.
Your pain isn’t written on your face. There, I only see the softness that in nightly mornings rests
on my chest.
I see tender breaths. Jubilant inhales, magical exhales, you lie there like the queen-creature you
really are, the stillness in chiaroscuro.
The lilies your sister bought you sit next to the Vitamin Waters and Chapstick, absolute
essentials in your line of duty.
I can only sit, watch as what happened happens before me and the rest of the world. The scent of
the flowers is in the air.
But so are others. She rests. Her recovery is slow. Yet we cherish that there is a road from which
to path her to us.
I see her in her unawareness. In her senseless state, we communicate through memories.
My memories are of her caressing my face and looking deeply into my eyes telling me that they
are so dark and mysterious.
After dark, I watch you sleep and played you the Gymnopédies. You sleep in the morning, white
and purple tinted lilies blossom and wilt before you.
There’s a timeless image of you printed on my heart. And like a dog, I stand guard by your side.
Ayendy Bonifacio is an English PhD student at The Ohio State University with a focus on nineteenth-century periodical poetry. He teaches poetry and writing composition to undergraduates and practices photography part-time. His poems and book reviews have been featured in The Journal: A Literary Magazine, The Olivetree Review, The Rocky Mountain Review, Qué Pasa, OSU and recently in The Syzygy Poetry Journal.
Art can illuminate even the most elusive and difficult to comprehend ideas. Visual rules and tightly codified visual metaphors help scientists communicate complex ideas mostly amongst themselves, but they can also become barriers to new ideas and insights. Dr. Regina Valluzzi’s images are abstracted and diverged from the typical rules and symbols of scientific illustration and visualization; they provide an accessible window into the world of science for both scientists and non-scientists.
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