Poem

Untitled

She didn't last the night.
The blanket that held her
was standard hospital issue,
white, worn and frayed.
The orderly
took it down to the basement
where tomorrow it will be washed,
folded and stacked with the others—
these quiet ferrymen,
who circle in on themselves,
hold and wait with
infinitesimal patience
under the hum of lights
that never go dark,
never stop illuminating
what no one
wants to see.

*
Poem written 2014