|
| |
Visiting
In the tall many-eyed hospital
I am shrunken into a small pocket of isolation
waiting for a man to die or
the replanting of a once mislaid miracle.
I'm ducking beneath time and place waiting for something
I dare not name yet.
A stranger walks by,
he looks at me as if I am known to him
I want to tell him I hardly know myself anymore
but now his eyes are glazing over with indifference.
I’ve been here before,
a little further down this corridor
as a person blanked to off-white for the ease of finding;
a fearless medical concern, laid-out,
detailed, prepped for the probing,
one wrist banded just in case the unforeseen
grew too large to be ignored.
Today I am only a figure on a bench
visiting, hoping for news of death postponed
trying to recall one iota of the fear I once left here
as I, bundled against a heartless wind
was delivered back into a living space,
a place my friend may not find anymore.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
|
|