Of course your body is broken,
a busted antique at the village dump.
It’s no surprise you pray for death.
I sometimes wish for it too.
“You get better or you die,” you say,
without remembering what better means.
You can’t walk,
or recall how you got here,
an infant dressed in an old woman’s skin.
And I think:
Of course you die.
How else could anyone agree to let go?
Unless tortured first: beaten, subservient.
The only promise kept, a tomorrow worse than today.
— “Lady in Waiting” - Ali Berman