When I sit in the waiting room
of the doctor's office,
my arm still splinted
after two months,
I wonder about the other patients.
What brought them here?
How long have they been waiting?
Where are they supposed to be,
when they aren't in pain,
struggling to concentrate
and make themselves function
wholly
once more?
Do they still have hope
for a cure,
a medicine,
a day when all of this
is just a memory
too far gone to grasp fully
before it slips between their fingers
like grains of sugar
on the kitchen floor?
No comments:
Post a Comment