Seattle Municipal Archives via Flickr

The Ward

Lines of beds,
Sharing fans,
Stained covers,
And flickering tubelights.

The constant sound of a leaking tap,
The heavy scent of liquid sanitizer,
Doctor’s shoes on rounds,
And anticipation.

Tubes going in,
Tubes coming out,
Graphs, that rise and fall like the sea
And faith.

Eyes that cry silently,
Eyes that refuse to open,
Questions often unanswered,
But hope.

Time, that doesn’t stop
Yet hours, are longer
Hands that once held another,
Now lie lonely and motionless.