Bedside

A hospital can be a jovial place,
At least for a week or two.
The staff can be friendly and kind.
You can banter with the crew.

It’s only when you don’t get well,
Just get sicker, start to despair,
Linger, become less inclined to banter,
That it’s heart-sinking to be there.

Yes, it’s mostly self-pity. Yes,
It’s loneliness. You’re estranged
From family, from your own memories,
From any encouraging kinds of change.

You want to be back on the mesa.
You want to be back at the lake.
You want to be with your daughter,
Laughing at how she hacks into birthday cake.

A nurse comes in as you’re shuffling
Through old travel photos on your phone,
And she looks at the pictures, how pretty,
A mercy. To share memory. To not be alone.