The sharp, green waves
and staccato beeps sing
your heart rate from my monitor—
a background sound so familiar
it seeps into me without effort.
But, while you’re drifting under,
the sounds, and the waves,
change abruptly: a new rhythm.
It is your first question, and it’s urgent.
I answer with a question, too:
a push from a syringe,
and a whisper of encouragement.
You say nothing at first,
instead, slowing, pausing…too long—
this conversation can’t be over.
I push on your chest
firmly, but gently.
I need to help
your failing heart.
It just wants a touch,
some external coaxing.
I wait, anxious, for your response.
I hope it doesn’t show.
Is this the end? How hard will it be?
Your eventual answer, which I liked,
and the time it took to give, which I liked less,
foretell the day’s many ups and downs.
It’s just the beginning
of our discussion.
We’ll both have more questions.
