Having been so long untouched,
I’d become a child beyond touch
and unclean.
So, when suffocatingly
roused from a nightmare of death
to unbreathable silence
in an oxygen tent, I cried
afraid of dying alone.
From somewhere
(outside of all darkness)
you appeared
(starched-pinafored and perfumed
a student nurse working nights
after classes)
bringer of light
restorer of air
redeemer.
At your spell, cool air whispered
around us, and you held me
despite my uncleanness
(and I felt
your heart
beating).
My tears eased a path for breath,
your fingers gentled my face,
and I fell back into sleep
at peace.
I have forgotten your name
but I remember your touch
and the silver nitrate stain
on your hand, a sky blue.
If I believe in Mercy
it’s only because of this:
You fearlessly touched one
whom others would not
and if God has a face
it is yours.
Categories:
student nurse, 2nd grade, childhood, cry,
Form: Free verse
The old man on my nursing shift,
held my hand with such a grip.
We both knew he was at death's door.
Would see his kith and kin no more.
I called for the priest, so ironic.
For a Prodestant, not such a tonic.
The rest of the patients slept sound.
While this old man was heaven bound.
His chest rattled, his breathing deep.
How better to depart while still asleep.
I softly spoke, said "Don't be afraid."
Not long after, he was in his grave.
I was but a student nurse then.
But a great life's lesson I had learned.
Physical touch is what's needed most,
when life departs and we become a goast.
Categories:
student nurse, body, care, death,
Form: Elegy