Sonnet #36

What else can democratize us like chronic

pain? The ones who feel it know the truth

of tired, aching joints and loosening tooth

The fear that it will get worse, we're sick

All of us, to death, eventually, and pain

is like the string around the finger: remember

remember, the coming of bleak december

It changes our days, the way we seek friends

or deny them, ashamed to admit our fragility

For some it hardens them like knives of death

It is coming, nothing matters, stand hard, sterility.

Others say the hurt reminds us there is no wealth

No peace, nothing, but to ease the pain, and empathy.

These, the two tribes that rise for the commonwealth.