The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More

But there is nothing more I have to give.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own;
a code of breath, of beat and pallor.

In the faint blue of insubstantial skin,
I place black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and even,
a steady hand my last remaining offering.

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness,
let loose from binding pain,
slowly, quietly exhales.

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my bones now old and aching,
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.



The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More

But there is nothing more I have to offer.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own,
and hers has told me this is her last refrain.

In the faint blue of this delicate skin,
I place neat black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and small,
a steady hand the only thing left that I can give.

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness,
let loose from searing pain, slowly exhales
away from what it has known.

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my own bones aching now and old,
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.

The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More
The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More

But there is nothing more I have to offer.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own, (This has good focus)
and hers has told me this is her last refrain.

In the faint blue of this delicate skin,
I sew in neat black stitches, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and small
a steady hand the only thing left that I can give.

(Love care you’ve given to construct and the concept itself.)

This small body, ravished (ravaged?) now and dying (suggests: trade word, fading)
nearly translucent in its lightness, (lightness: purposefully unclear? Use pallor or maybe a color comparison?)
let loose from searing pain, slowly exhales (‘lets’ might clear up the tense/timeline)
towards the arc of timelessness.

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my own bones aching now and old, (maybe change “old” to express the burden/heft)
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.

I enjoyed the final 2 lines, especially.

This is so lovely. You are a caregiver. I am there w/you, walking down this suddenly extremely long hallway. I love the delicate form of the stanzas, their length acting as the breaths itself. That the death is not really mentioned in the poem is striking to me (the small body is still exhaling in line 3 / stanza 3). Was it intended? It's almost as if the child / small person dies somewhere between stanza 3 and stanza 4, as I don't think you would have left her if she were still alive. It's beautiful and tragic at the same time. Each of the first three stanzas is actually filled w/positive connotatively usage. It isn't until the end that the images change to the negative.

I also am partial to poems which invite their titles into the poem as yours did. Thanks for posting this.

Hello beaufort,

I thought this was quite moving and original as well. Below some comments.

(12-07-2013, 07:58 AM)beaufort Wrote:  The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More

But there is nothing more I have to offer.Connecting the title with the first line works very well, draws the reader in immediately.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own,
and hers has told me this is her last refrain.I like the last three lines a lot, the only problem I have is with "her last refrain". It somehow sounds a bit cliché to me.

In the faint blue of this delicate skin,
I place neat black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and small
a steady hand the only thing left that I can give.This whole verse was excellent I think. Was it intentional to leave out punctuation in the third line?

This small body, ravished now and dying You might not even need "ravished now and dying". The final line of your poem might make a bigger impact when you leave this out.
nearly translucent in its lightness,
let loose from searing pain, slowly exhales "Searing pain" feels clichéd.
towards the arc of timelessness. "Arc of timelessness" to me really feels out of place: it sounds overly florid and "deep" compared to the rest of the poem.

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my own bones aching now and old, Switch "aching" and "now"?
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.This whole last verse I found excellent and very moving; the last line also connects well with the images in the first verse.

Thanks to all of you who have commented - helpful and appreciated. I have made some changes, though not a full edit.

Thanks again.

Hello beaufort,

I think you should give it some more time and thought before changing; there's no need to rush! Especially when a poem is already really good, it can take a lot of time to find words that are on the same level as the rest. The edits you've made don't work for me yet...

All best,
Jan

(12-07-2013, 07:58 AM)beaufort Wrote:  But there is nothing more I have to offer.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own,
and hers has told me this is her last refrain.

In the faint blue of this delicate skin,
I place neat black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and small,
a steady hand the only thing left that I can give. [consider "left to give"]

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness, ["translucent in its lightness" strikes me as redundant and a bit awkward]
let loose from searing pain, slowly exhales ["searing pain" is cliché]
away from what it has known. [awkward, an unwelcome digression from the poem's established tone]

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my own bones aching now and old, [switch aching and now, maybe?]
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.

Overall I really enjoyed this poem. I love that the title functions as the first line. The second stanza contains some very evocative imagery--I might even call it precise. "Let loose" in the third stanza is nice. I think that stanza needs the most work; the other three are nearly perfect.

Thank you for the read!

I loved this poem. It reaches unsuspectingly into a deep, dark depth of pain...and dread.

(12-07-2013, 07:58 AM)beaufort Wrote:  But there is nothing more I have to offer.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own,

(maybe you need to qualify the 'body' here with a word, like 'small' or 'little' or a word in similar vein, because I didn't get that it was a child until the next to next stanza. I was visualizing an older/adult body.)

and hers has told me this is her last refrain.

In the faint blue of this delicate skin,
I place neat black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and small,
a steady hand the only thing left that I can give.

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness,
let loose from searing pain, slowly exhales
away from what it has known.

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my own bones aching now and old,
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.

All the other stanzas are just brilliant.

comment removed.

/mod

This is very beautiful beaufort, I've been following the comments and am personally very pleased with the revision. Only a couple small nits.

(12-07-2013, 07:58 AM)beaufort Wrote:  The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More - Revision

But there is nothing more I have to give.
Although it can no longer speak, As others have noted, readers don't necessarily understand it's a child until later in the poem, and this line adds to that. But honestly I'm not sure if it's really a problem.
the body has a language of its own;
a code of breath, of beat and pallor.

In the faint blue of this insubstantial skin,
I place neat black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and even,
a steady hand my last remaining offering. I agree with the general consensus here that this is basically perfect. =]

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness, I love the double meaning of lightness.
let loose from binding pain,
slowly, wordlessly exhales.Right here is the biggest problem I have with the revision. We already know "it can no longer speak" so wordlessly is quite redundant. Maybe soundlessly?

My own throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my bones aching now and old, The "and old" strikes me a bit odd, especially since it's the transition from the hospital room to the hallway... but I think it can work.
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.

So those are my thoughts. Honestly this is a beautiful, beautiful piece of poetry full of delicate emotions, skirting around heartbreak. Well done.

-justcloudy

Thanks for your reading and your kind words. I appreciate your suggestions. I used "slowly, wordlessly exhaled" because I was trying to echo the theme of from the first stanza "although it can no longer speak" and the "language of the body" that is then repeated at the end with "speak the language of death". I think soundlessly is good, maybe "finally" - though I thought that was a bit melodramatic, which I was trying to avoid. The "my bones aching now and old" is referring to how tired and old and worn out and defeated I would feel as a doctor when I knew that there was nothing left to be done to help a patient and then had to relay that news to the family. I'll think about other ways to word it and give it another try.

thanks again

To clarify, I liked the bones aching and I liked how you mentioned "old", and understood why. I just thought it could be a tiny bit smoother, that's all. =]

(12-11-2013, 08:56 PM)beaufort Wrote:  Thanks for your reading and your kind words. I appreciate your suggestions. I used "slowly, wordlessly exhaled" because I was trying to echo the theme of from the first stanza "although it can no longer speak" and the "language of the body" that is then repeated at the end with "speak the language of death". I think soundlessly is good, maybe "finally" - though I thought that was a bit melodramatic, which I was trying to avoid. The "my bones aching now and old" is referring to how tired and old and worn out and defeated I would feel as a doctor when I knew that there was nothing left to be done to help a patient and then had to relay that news to the family. I'll think about other ways to word it and give it another try.

thanks again

Don't get too carried away w/all this "help"...it's still your poem. This poem is not "melodramatic"...it is not "schmaltzy" at all. Too much tinkering and you could lose that fine line. Adverbs are a bane. BIG difference between a body that's "wordless" and the way it "wordlessly" exhales. Think about each modifier. You are describing a highly personal experience of "before" and "after" I see this poem as all about you, not about the child or the parents. Cut even more words: (e.g. "this" line 5 and "neat" line 6. They add nothing except another beat.) Quit trying to describe death so "neatly"...

I really like the changes to stanza one.

Thanks just cloudy and 71degrees, I appreciate the time and suggestions and have incorporated them. Best,

This is a beautiful, delicate edit. Well done.

(12-07-2013, 07:58 AM)beaufort Wrote:  The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More

But there is nothing more I have to give.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own;
a code of breath, of beat and pallor. language and code go together well, a clear, beautiful line

In the faint blue of insubstantial skin,
I place black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and even, even speaks of care even better than small for me
a steady hand my last remaining offering.

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness,
let loose from binding pain, binding ties back to sutures, improved here also
slowly, quietly exhales. simple but powerful.

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my bones now old and aching,
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.



The Family in the Waiting Room Wants More

But there is nothing more I have to offer.
Although it can no longer speak,
the body has a language of its own,
and hers has told me this is her last refrain.

In the faint blue of this delicate skin,
I place neat black sutures, taking extra care
to make them beautiful and small,
a steady hand the only thing left that I can give.

This small body,
nearly translucent in its lightness,
let loose from searing pain, slowly exhales
away from what it has known.

My throat suddenly as dry as hers,
my own bones aching now and old,
I make my way down the long sterile hall
to speak the language of death.

Thanks for posting this, a fine read.

If you ask me this is perfect now. Well-measured. Lovely.

Well done. =]

-justcloudy

Thanks to you both.

Great edit!