I didn't want to wait on my kneesIn a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the riseOf breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the traysOf food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go thenFinally toward that ecstatic light. I didn't want to believeWhat we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave usBack into our blinding, bright lives.
-Tracy K. Smith
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