Thursday, May 7, 2009

Meter Maid

I wrote this poem a while ago after a particularly difficult night at work. Last night I was the nurse for a similar tragedy. Thought I'd post it while fresh in my mind.

I am the meter maid of silence
marking time between
missed beats and sobbing prayer
in the pause between
his question
my answer
when he inquires of his little girl
and I tell him
she is dead.

Tell him what he knows.
As his wife prays loudly wildly
incomprehensibly alive
next to my hesitating faith.

And I offer my own whimper of a prayer.
Wispy and hesitant;
like how I feel when he makes me repeat
that she is gone
over and over.

I am the miserable emissary for death
initially apologetic
then forgetting to feel
I am callused to this cruelty.

They didn’t see us try to save her.

Smother my sob in a cough.


  1. my lordy, making me cry in the middle of the day

  2. Ah hah hah my evil plan is working....