Hospital
OTHER ROOMS
We’re gliding through a passageway, the souls
and I, from darkness into light, and then
a corridor. White walls. A gurney. Voices.
Here! Now! Delivery rooms! They thrill, and I
am charged, too, with their hope, though I don’t share it.
Too old, now, to be born, I pause and bob,
directionless, alone as they fly off,
uncertain whether there’s a place for me,
then drift away along the corridor
toward other rooms.
|
Threaded Mode
