The confusion of illness
I wish there had been a
Been a fence to keep us out
The fluttering of the white
Privacy
Curtain
Was not enough
I was committed
And couldn’t get away
If only the curtain
Had been strong enough
To keep away
The smell of clean johnnies
And non-latex gloves
To keep
The parade out
The parade of white-coated interns,
Doctors
Nurses,
Phlebotomists,
Residents
But
It didn’t
They just kept coming, sometimes
In droves, other times in
Trickles
Especially when
The pain
Was excruciating
Then
They trickled
Around
Promises and keys
Monitors and permission
Blankets
But never enough to warm
His cold body
In the ER
How many times would they ask
Questions from the frail, pain riddled man
Without his memory?
How many times would I have to correct
His story?
Her story?
And yet they kept coming
Asking
Writing
And when he cried
I had to explain to the intern
That it was OK
It was just
The morphine crying.
Not my father
