The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2008

They Watch at His Bedside and Wait

for him to wake up, they said, like when

he was a newborn and they wanted to play

with him.  Nearly a man now, he looks

so small, swaddled with bandages

and muddled with tubes; it’s hard to see

his face or go to that place

before the accident

when they all took for granted

what we all take for granted.

Awake. Breath. Reflex.

They are happy and it’s not Pollyanna;

reality has made its shift.  They live

the new normal now, where a word,

even half-a-word brings joy, where

it’s enough without words just to know

that for now he is stable, able to take

two breaths in a row without a machine;

they can dream a little,

of taking him home.  They’ve learned

the hard way what

we all say we want, to live

in the present, every sliver

of second their boy’s still alive,

and when he manages the word mom

or to stretch out a finger to touch

his father’s face, it’s like new birth,

those first trembling seconds.

Rebecca Foust