Nothing

•

honey, there is nothing
I can do,

if it was a broken pipe
I could fix it,

maybe I am not good
with my hands
but I could learn

as you taught me how to cook
with your favorite recipes

chicken cacciatore
green pea soup

shrimp with garlic sauce
rhubarb pie

if it was an economic system
I could fix it

as I have spent my life,
fighting capitalism,

only socialism can
bring real democracy

never were so many
exploited by so
few

we met at a demonstration
and fell in love,

we weren't perfect
but we stayed our ground,
stood the course,
kept the faith

through thick and thin,
you with your health care,
me with my party,

in a time of imperialist war
what else could we do

we bought a house,
adopted a child,
stayed the course,
planted the seed,

Alejo, his name is,
light of our life,
he grew up
and went to school,

played with trucks,
we walked the walk,
did the best we could
cutbacks, layoffs,

so hard and yet so easy
to be the storm—
tossed parent
with you,

but now,
my love, my precious love,
the cancer, after four short years
has spread to your bones,

metastasis, they call it

and I call you all the names
I vowed to love you with
but seldom did when you
were feeling fine,

precious darling, honeybunch,
sugarpie, as if making up
for lost time

and I, who have fought
the bourgeoisie,
am dumb to tell you what must be done,
except to feed you chicken soup,

tell you stay the course,
keep the faith,
walk the walk, do the bromides,
outside the window,
the birds that fly,

unlike the time
we organized to stop the war
and sat down in the street
blocking traffic, holding hands
like a ring of fire

now the days pass like
drip from an intravenous line
mostly I sit around
and wait for doctors.
in waiting rooms.

metastasis, they call it,
cancer cells spreading
to the bones and stomach,
spine and lungs,

coursing through the blood supply,
worse than the stranglehold
by the fascists at Leningrad
during World War Two,

if I had a hammer
I would hammer in the morning
I would hammer in the evening
all over this land

but I don't have a hammer
I don't have a recipe
I don't have an economic system

I am just a man loving a woman
breaking things up into the smallest tasks
so he won't go
out of his mind

the gods, if there are any,
the insurance companies,
the triage of our lives,
the thousand doctors' offices I take off work
to drive you to,

metastasis, they call it
spreading from the breast
to the bones and stomach,
spine and lungs,

I look you in the eyes,
tiny knives inside you,

when we first met
you wore a ribbon
in your hair,

in the belly
of the beast,
that march
around the Pentagon,

I walk the streets
at night,
I look up
at the stars that shine,

I don't have
a recipe,
I don't have
a hammer,

the spine
and lungs,

I swear, I rage
I weep bitter tears
at the terrible
news….

love,
our work together,
children,
metastasis…..

after all these years
I hold you in my arms,
darling, now there is nothing
I can DO