I only see you cry when angry

But your tears today were of love

 

Your eyes welling with tears

and your chest heaving with grief

you wielded syringes, tubes and pumps

you read blood pressures and timed drips

you drew phlegm out and massaged limp limbs

like a virtuoso

 

How you must anger death by now

How many times have you snatched Papa from it

as we did nothing but cry, watch and pray?

 

But there is some joy in my tears

As I watched my sister, the nurse

the tearful virtuoso

frustrating death

                   –San Pablo, Isabela / 8 February 2007 / 4:28 a.m.