IT’S GOOD TO TALK

   (Macbeth Act V Scene I)

• My Lady lives in these bleak rooms alone,
• except for me. A wench brings our food,
• another hales up water — gallons of water:
• I give them orders, thank them both, of course,
• but the gap in status limits conversation.
• Her husband never comes to visit now —
• too busy with affairs of state he says.
• The state of affairs in our suffering Scotland
• is past mere busyness to put to rights,
• perhaps beyond all hope, all help, all cure.


• She is alone but for me and the ghosts
• inside her teeming head. I talk to her
• as I trim the lamp or coax her back to bed.
• She scolds the phantom people in her skull,
• but never talks to me. I am alone.
• And I am lonely. No one soothes my fear.
• The Doctor came. There was an empathy
• between us, a shared instinct for right and wrong.
• He sees things clearly, a thoughtful, godly man:
• I almost grasped his hand in fellowship.


• I loved his eloquence: precise questions,
• careful answers. An educated person.
• A poet even, witnessing “a great
• perturbation in nature” or what he called
• “a slumbery agitation”. Although aghast
• at murderous revelations, he nonetheless
• let sorrow soften horror: “What a sigh
• is there! The heart is sorely charged.” No blame:
• “God forgive us all” his heartfelt prayer,
• bidding me earnestly, “Look after her.”


• I’ve small hope that he’ll return: I long
• to quit this place, but duty binds me here.
• Sleepless in the small hours, after watching
• my tormented lady, I dream his calm
• gaze, the pitying shake of his noble head.
• I echo in fancy my forlorn farewell
• after our vigil together: “Good night,
• good doctor”. Goodness and hope are rare
• and precious here, now love and faith have flown.
• God forgive us all who struggle alone.

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