Waiting

Sitting in the E.R., I thought of this, and just scribbled it down later.

 

 

 

A symphony of pacing feet,

monitor beeps, and children’s cries

echo dully through rooms 

of cruel unfamiliarity,

where cold white floors 

and harsh angles

comfort none.

Empty gurneys stand,

cooly impersonal,

despite having met each patient.

They are imprinted with 

life stories,

from the beginning,

to the end.

The slate continues

to be wiped clean - 

a vain attempt.

It is stained with sorrow.

The mirrored clock tells me

neither how long I’ve been here,

nor how long I’ll stay,

only that time continues on.

Unwavering.

Unyielding.

Indifferent

 to unfulfilled dreams.

I stretch my neck

to peek outside the door.

The wraith of a child stands at her doorway.

Our eyes meet.

Sympathy stretches across the distance.

 

They won’t even remember your name.

 

 

Author's Note

So, here's the story: I somehow popped a small bundle of veins under the skin of my neck (a red bump the nurses called a "strawberry"), and the blood wouldn't stop flowing. Thus, as any panicked parent would do, my dad rushes me to the ER to spend a good portion of my night, and morning. They cauterized the pinpoint wound, and I was fine. As I sat in the room, I thought about this poem, how there is no physical trace of the last patient, and how they float by with no one to remember them...hospitals are not pleasant when you're sitting on that gurney, never knowing who was before you, or if you're to repeat their fate...just how I felt anyway, at 4 AM, delusional and utterly sad. Anyway, the lines from "The mirored clock...your name" has an insinuation. The narrator is a ghost residing in the hospital, and it sees a child, already knowing her fate.

Reviews

[D. Moore]

Wow. Great to know you are okay. This is great, though. I love how you ended it.

[Flo_writer]

It makes me visualize one of those all white padded rooms in a mental institution. I could just Imagine sitting inside one of those rooms losing all awareness of time and going crazy. The poem was very well presented and I like how it made my imagination flow with it. Glad to your Okay.

[Cool Handless Luke]

I like it a lot. Very personal feel even though the narrator seems to be distant and distracted by what is happening. I'm glad you're okay but I love how you can find inspiration and words in things and present something inrospective out of it that never would have occurred before - very nicely done!