Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2016
Some days she comes home
sad, having ushered one of
her patients into the big sleep.
And she pours a drink, sometimes
telling us the medical side and
sometimes half asleep after the
first sip. And sometimes she
won't come home 'til 7 hours
after her shift, 'cause the evening
nurse didn't show and she has
paperwork to do (and management
has gone home, so she can relax
a bit), and we keep dinner
in the microwave cause even
saints gotta eat.
And her mom is becoming her
favorite patient, requiring
extra patience because my grandma
was a doctor. And she's now 92
with a failing heart and a mind
that can't quite hold on to what
it used to. And my mom is gonna
hold her hand, calmly carrying
another weakened, time-stricken
soul on her weight-thickened shoulders,
to the vacant hole that holds the
after. And she'll do it not 'cause
she has to, because all she's
ever done
                 is care.
Deyer
Written by
Deyer
446
     Kimberly Eyers
Please log in to view and add comments on poems