To Bear Witness
Laying bright eyes upon slow demolition
To Bear Witness
A deceptive phrase, “to bear witness.”
It’s not detachment, nor passivity;
I am no bystander.
To bear is an action:
to endure, to withstand,
to carry; yes, that’s it,
I carry the heaviness of standing by
not to judge or cheer or urge,
but just to bear the burden
of laying bright eyes
upon slow demolition,
upon all-too-human wreckage.
Forgive me
for not chasing you down
into the underground,
for choosing my path
and allowing you
your own;
all I can do
is open my palms
to receive your pain,
heartsick, grieving,
powerless to change
what is already done.
I am no saint, not even close,
yet this must be how Grace feels—
to bear witness
to our earnest striving,
responding not with solutions
but with enfolding mercy.
We were friends once,
besties separated
by lies and assumptions,
reunited now that the end
is nigh. We sit in silence,
mostly, a sacred hush
of the unsayable,
the irrelevant past
long forgotten.
You doze all night,
lurching awake twice an hour,
eyes terrified, searching the room—
”You’re still here,”
I tell you, and each time
you believe me.
Relieved,
our trust restored,
you slumber again,
head heavy on your chest,
slipping between here
and there, until
the next day, when there
finally becomes
your home.
I did so little, really.
I couldn’t fix you
or cure you or save you—
but I could stand guard,
watch over you,
heart flooding and spilling,
and reassure you
that you were, indeed,
here.
Sometimes,
god knows,
that is all we can do.
Those who are destined
to disappear
will not be deterred
but while they are here,
and I am still here,
I will say to them: I see you.
I will bear witness.
Many silent moons ago I lost quite a few very dear friends to AIDS--not havin' (of course) any CLUE to Dark Lord Fauxchee's horrific role in THAT plandemic/scamdemic, not knowing that these dear souls who once made me smile and with whom I shared so many good memories--of creative collaboration, of old movies and good books enjoyed together, of music wild and wacky, of dancin' until dawn! of good cooking and even better company!--could've ALL been spared this mystery plague that was...sadly...tragically....as is today...tied in with choices they made.
And so I too didn't pass judgement...on the poppers prolific, on the partners plentiful, on disastrous diets (not ta mention diet-pills dangerous...), and on so much more that I felt was unwise and unsafe--and yet which didn't really affect their daytime ability to work well and enjoy friendships to the fullest. There were some rifts (lies, assumptions...the latter being worse actually...) and then of course there was The End...holding chill-damp hands at hospital bedside, looking at the drips going into parched veins, knowing that even though they, my friends, were "still there"--in fact, they were GONE.
You tell my story too Mary. Thank you! I never really found words for how I felt--but it WAS bearing witness.... so true. And perhaps also... burning witness... as we witness we keep a slow burning pain inside, even knowing the hearts of those fading were searing more. So and thus, I too bore witness .more than once.....and had to take a deep breath and hold the clammy hands---and my tongue. Just bein' there seemed right. I guess it was like this for you too... I can see it so clearly, line by line....
Was this loss recent? A dear friend... I am so sorry. And you knew... and you know.
Thankfully most friends (or former ones) I currently know who have been lost to "covidianism" (some I DO think got saline) are still on this Earth. Mercifully my own jab-damaged Ma has been (thus) spared the worst--as she even now recovers from a post-jab-stroke or "something" they couldn't figger out (doi) as she relearns to walk... a far cry from her up-and-down-the-stairs-runnin'-after-her-dogs former self.... (To this less dire form of sufferin' we also, in a way, bear witness...)
I know that many of us might YET have to bear witness, or do so again, over time...
...given what we KNOW. This piece may be the crystalized lament of these tenuous times. It's a beautiful and true and sad song--I simply hope that it's not one we'll need to sing often as it's not easy to bear for any of us. Nevertheless, keep 'em comin' !
Gosh, your poetry just pierces through, doesn’t it? This is simply superb, thank you, Mary.
If you keep your light on, and I keep my light on, and Margaret, and Kathleen, and Tessa, and all the light burners out there do, well, then, the world gets to be pretty bright, doesn’t it? 🤗