The tragedy of a face in pain
is how little you can do for it
because it is so closed. Having lain
outlined in knives, afraid to move,
it cannot move and therefore cannot love.
This is why we say it is a mask,
for the face is so frozen by hurt and fear
it is unable to ask for help.
You can do nothing but stay near.
This is why we hover over those in pain
doing things unasked for and unwanted,
hoping simply with our bodies to cover pain
as if to protect it. Better to go away.
But by asking for help pain is erased,
for the face opens to say what it has to say
and a beauty of concentration overcomes it.
The pain is saying outwardly what it is.
The help it asks for is what overcomes it.
Help me on with this dress.
Get me a glass of water.
Look, I’ve made a mess.
Both the face of pain and the face of the one
riveted to it in relief believe there’s still
something to get, something to be done.
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