At the hospital, with my dad

On healing, and loneliness

Day 27 of 30 Days of Poetry, Autumn 2024

It snowed this morning
though no one predicted it.
The two baristas arrived 
on time anyway, 
to layer lattes and cold foams
in the caff on the first floor 
behind the glass doors 
inside the sterile building,
the marble walls echoing
with sighs and dings 
of the elevators
carting family, lovers, and
nervous CNAs up up 
and away. 

I'm at the hospital,
with my dad, and it's ok --
he's ok. He's 85 and this
obstruction is minor, 
a veer on a slippery road,
But we know now
how to not oversteer,
how to turn into the skid.
I arrive to relieve 
my sisters, my brothers,
a rotating tag team
to hold space
to chase down
clear liquids,
to walk circles 
with him in the hall.

Nobody likes to be alone--
when does one stop planning
the next holiday,
the next road trip,
and simply wait for 
the inevitable?
The PT on her rounds
marvels at Dad's
speed, the OT gapes
at his flexibility.
The gray day 
tricks the eye.
If only they had
an inkling of his
rowdy, untamed 
heart.

---

Today’s word(s) — healing/loneliness — came from my writer friend, Sarah Owen.

“Everybody needs a place to rest
Everybody wants to have a home
Don't make no difference what nobody says,
ain't nobody like to be alone.
Everybody's got a hungry heart …”

— Bruce Springsteen