Seen

Invisible to the outer world,
they live tucked away in a house
on a quiet street:
one bed-bound, with no eyes,
one whose body is a trunk, with curled limbs,
one who suffers countless seizures a day.
They are non-verbal, but with thoughts
and feelings and senses of humour
(like the one who cracked up laughing
at the staff's conversation one day.
"What do you think they're thinking?"
"They're thinking we sound like
freaking idiots!")

48 years one has lived
trapped inside his body,
having to be cared for,
the same routine
day after endless day,
cared for like a body,
with very little attempt to connect,
to draw forth a response,
to recognize there is a being,
living as best it can,
like a tree, un-watered,
within.

Until she came,
laughing and golden,
insisting his life could be
more than this.

Until the night,
when she looked into his eyes
and told him something
he had never heard:
"I see you. I see you.
And you are beautiful,"
and watched a single tear roll
down his face.


My daughter, of whom I am very proud, works in a home that cares for half a dozen severely handicapped individuals, largely invisible and unknown to the outer world, whom she loves with compassion, warmth and empathy. She is the golden one in the poem. She is also the one who made the funny comment.

for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Invisibility