"Gone," Tom Doenges

GONE

By: Tom Doenges

There’s little left that I can do.

My bones are weak,

my strength is gone;

my days of lifting children high,

of sending kites

up to the sky,

of playing softball on the lawn,

of climbing sand dunes

by the lake,

of nailing shingles on a roof,

of painting a gable,

of planting a shrub,

of trimming a tree,

of being half the man I used to be.

Gone

I’ve thought about it a lot;

questioning

why I’m still around.

I always felt,

contemptuously,

that if one takes up space

without producing

for the common good;

without earning a place

in the scheme of things,

it’s time to go.

And then a grandchild smiled and said,

“Grandpa,

can you help me with this?”

A neighbor

needed me to

fix a faucet.

A stranger

asked me to show him

the way.

I held the door

for one older

and more crippled than I.

I prayed

with a bereaved

friend who sought comfort.

The more I helped others,

the more I found

I had much to offer.

I felt guilty

knowing my own depression

was depressing others;

especially

those I love most.

And at last I realized

that I still have much to do

that does not require

physical strength;

and all at once,

my fears,

my doubts,

my depression;

Gone.

(2013 Poetry Contest: 1st Honorable Mention, Lucas County)