To Watch a Daughter Die

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To watch a daughter die — 
One could practice a lifetime 
And never do it well. 
The labored hell 
That seals a pact with death 
In every breath 
Knows no translation out of agony 
Into words. 

To see potential dashed 
On the callous rocks 
of Chance 
And watch impotently 
The pain that swells into a mountain. 
And I can 
Touch and stroke 
And hold 
Til she would break, 
And empty tears til muscles 
Can bear sobbing heaves no more. 
But . . . 
I never ease the pain — 
Never touch the pain 
She carries like a 
Deadly albatross. 

To watch her 
Grow down 
Laboring 
Backward. 
Unnaturally 
Relearning 
Dependance 
Steering daily downward 
Back to the womb 
Of death.

To see her face 
Ultimately alone 
(I cannot come, my love) 
Nightmare nights 
crying “Momma” 
And the door is locked 
And I can beat it down 
Til fists run blood 
But never get inside 
Never reach her. 
She will journey by herself 
No hand to steady her, succor her.
And I run a treadmill, 
Never catching up. 

I am supposed to hand her graciously away—
Flesh of my flesh, 
Blood of my . . . 
And not cling with every fiber claw.
There is no 
Tangible foe with which to 
Duel away my life 
For hers. 
Coward Death, 
Afeared of mortal might, 
Knowing in fair fight 
My right 
Would win. 

To watch a daughter die 
Is the first and worst 
Death I will feel. 
My own will be 
A shady second run. 

To watch a daughter die — 
Value? 
None. 
Maybe only 
A way to practice living 
Hell 
On earth.