Hospital and Looking at for the Other Side

Two of us in the same box
going up to the 6th floor, time enough to consider
her dated slacks, button earrings
crucifix above the top button
of her blue button down shirt,
vinyl bag, tissue in hand
and watery eyes fixed upon her own feet.

I was there for the money,
for the chance to make policy, and force-bloom a late career
on the bleeding edge.
So I wore the scarf-broach uniform
of those once bedside where the business was,
surrounding fiscal solvency and hearts
with making-breaking decisions

like that she had now in the elevator.
Watching her pain glow on her skin
burning years and scything tender shoots of love in retirement,
of rewards only begun.

My former life reached out with another tissue,
a hesitating bead of comfort poised
to jump from my hand to hers
wrap around her weathered shoulders
tell her it’s alright.
But the doors opened
into glaring light and synthesized speech
as she stepped towards a new life.