Hugh Silk, MD, MPH
Have you thought anymore about hospice?
All sound seems to disappear
A tear refuses to decide between the lacrimal duct and her cheek
Suspended like the moment
Not ready yet
Silence broken
The whistle of her lungs creates harmony
You there on your coach
Oxygen tube dangling to the floor
I on my knees at your side
I listen intently to your chest sounds
Through the snores of your husband
from the only other room in this basement apartment
And the music from the smart phone as your grandson plays a game
And the loud snore that pierces the calm
While the wind outside the door clashes against the frozen pane
A Shakespearean reminder of the tension here
in the warmth beside your space heater
Harmony has become cacophony
We smile, maybe even laugh awkwardly
I will return
I have to
We need to
Perhaps me more than you
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