When I was 35, catastrophe
beset me and my body nearly quit.
They hooked me up to drips, did surgery
two times, and scanned for an appropriate
response to symptoms dangerous no doubt.
I carried on, reacting brave and wise,
and only when the final tube was out,
did I release the torrents from my eyes.

In similar cascade, but more mundane,
I weathered most the year without my nest.
I worked with every ask, did not complain,
agreed to all the scheduling requests,
and only now it’s over do I see
how much and long I suffered silently.