my eyes stray from the patient I am with
to the one in a chair across the hall
short, puffy, silent – alone, the nurse whispers
to a nurse nearby
a small woman with tousled steel colored curls
waiting for open heart surgery and blinking
occasionally at the wall
I can tell you she is too small, too alone,
too frightened in her chair, a monotone
of being alone
and the next day too – it’s the same
sitting in her chair by the door
now holding a heart pillow, being told to press,
cough and press,
and she does so, she stays alive –
maybe she wonders why – but still, so obedient
to the requests of the nurse
her eyes living in distant fields
that I long to fill
with gentle family and wildflowers
to the one in a chair across the hall
short, puffy, silent – alone, the nurse whispers
to a nurse nearby
a small woman with tousled steel colored curls
waiting for open heart surgery and blinking
occasionally at the wall
I can tell you she is too small, too alone,
too frightened in her chair, a monotone
of being alone
and the next day too – it’s the same
sitting in her chair by the door
now holding a heart pillow, being told to press,
cough and press,
and she does so, she stays alive –
maybe she wonders why – but still, so obedient
to the requests of the nurse
her eyes living in distant fields
that I long to fill
with gentle family and wildflowers
Note: A Small Woman was written for the lonely (and alone) who face fearful surgeries, and other situations.
Thank you so much, Sara! <3
A moving tribute to those who suffer – thank you.