Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Visiting Hours

A small hospital in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana.
The dread grows in the bottom of your stomach.
There is a faint whiff of pink and red carnations
from the gift shop by the main entrance, but it’s closed.
You check in at the front desk and are shown the elevator.
Go to the eighth floor.
You worry that you’re going to be yelled at by a nurse
when you wander the hallways, looking for 818.
Someone moans in agony in 833.  A nurse closes the door.
You find her room.  You sit in an uncomfortable chair as she sleeps.

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