Esther

Margaret V.Doran

     I sent her away

     My love, my lifeline, my wife
     She carries our unborn child
     I sent her home
     Across the line
     To family and heat and food

     Where there is fresh water
     And there are clean beds
     And doctors . . . for her

     And she has jumped through all their hoops
     And she has tried
          And tried
               And tried
     To make them let me in

     To be there with her
     When my first born child
     Takes his first breath

     "Have faith," she says
     As her time draws near
     But I have drawn near to despair

     As she counts the days
     I count the miles
     And check on other options

     If I buy my passage
     There is no guarantee
     But if I fail I can try again

     It takes no miracle
     To succeed but then
     What will I have bought?

     As an alien in a foreign land
     A life of non-existance
     And an inability to fulfill my responsibilities

     "God will provide," she says
     But when . . . when will He provide?
     I am growing desperate

     I yearn for her warmth next to me at night
     And the smell of her hair
     And the feel of her skin stretched taught over the thriving life within

     Desire is killing me from the inside
     Ineffectiveness is killing me from the outside
     And I am so full of fear

     That she will find another
     That the provision will be for someone else to raise my son
     Help me, Lord . . . what can I do?

Copyright © 1997 Margaret V. Doran. All rights reserved.

If you enjoyed this poem, please send her an e-mail here.

Updated July 1, 1999
Return to Title Page