Fletcher Allen Hospital: In the Heart Wing
We wander floor to floor, idle guests
invisible to doctors and nurses
because we do not gasp or bleed.
For fun I dare you to fall
on the polished floor, gasp and bleed.
In the chaos, a ghost,
my father rapping
on my bedroom door
interrupting a pajama party séance.
pretending to be a dead man.
Though there are plenty of prompts available for my NaPoWriMo pleasure, this year, as it has happened for the past two springs, my father is in the hospital. Two years ago around this time, he spent nearly a month in the hospital and even longer recovering from aneuryism surgery. That’s when I began the “Hospital Diaries.” This year, it is his heart and his lungs, and though I didn’t expect them, the poems have been coming.