His life felt sick.
Filled with ick

And she was sighing,
inside dying.

Yet, when asked,
her response
entirely unresponsive,
“I’m fine.”
puts her compassionate listener
in a double-bind.

Do I ask her if she is intentionally lying
or irresponsibly
out of her self-isolating mind?

Neither one
feels more kind
and patient,
still, uncommunicating
and yet curious.

Could it be
she is embarrassed
about being merely mortal?

A caregiver
without sufficient tools
or even weapons
to assure EarthTribe’s
resonantly healthy non-confrontations
with degenerative trends
sometimes overwhelming
normal regenerative
narrative twists and bends,

A mother
who must only be
an omnipotent caregiver,
without sustained support
as one of us
co-arising care receivers?

What good is universal health care giving
without reciprocal
compassionate care receiving?

And, how could we,
why would we,
when should all Earth’s caregivers
deny our patriarchal climates
of pathology?

When our allies are sick
and filled with unanticipated ick.