That Day; Wandering the Desert by Louis Faber

THAT DAY

When his mother finally took him to the doctor,

after his fever wouldn't break

and he complained of a sore throat and fatigue,

she seemed almost pleased when

the doctor announced that he had mononucleosis.

She didn't dare then say anything

and even the doctor smiled at him

as if he had done something wonderful.

When they got home, his mother continued

to smile, continue to say nothing

happy to assume how he had gotten it,

her fears allayed about his orientation,

although they didn't call it that then,

and he briefly joined in her smile conspiratorially,

until he realized that Tommy probably

felt every bit as sick as he did that day.

WANDERING THE DESERT

An ill wind blows

parched dreams across the desert

of endless night, dawn always

lurking beyond the horizon

refusing to come forward, to concede.

We are bound to this place, it is

at once our home, our prison.

These bodies do not yield, only

shatter on the rocks of our

always roiling sea of thought.

We imagined this nirvana, we imagined

ourselves gods, not the fallen souls

left to wander in endless search

of healing, for that spirit that once

burned passionately and now lies

a faint shadow at our feet

rejecting motion, rejecting us.

When day finally comes, we

will remember none of this, it

will remember it all, and will

revisit it on us when we find purchase

on the shore of hope and faith.