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-- for John
You were the caregiver on the other end,
Your body lying on a borrowed bed,
Pipes and tubes and lines and drains
Sticking out from here and there,
Every pore an opening, spitting
Pus and blood and piss like rain
As the uncooperative Staphylococcus
Seeded all of you. Though your body fell,
Your therapist ears were pricked,
Surrendering the rest to an assembled team
Who didn't know they'd offer up themselves
The way they did-- unconsciously and comfortably,
Like it was part of the job:
The burnt-out nurse whose daughter hit the road,
The divorced doctor on his way to rehab,
A student, a tech, the Spanish-speaking girl
Who brought your tray each new and loaded day
You somehow filled with pure potential,
Hope and wit, a simple state of acclimated being.
You heard them through the pungent portals,
Where what they sucked and drained
Seemed raised as gifts of offering,
Transformed on a floating altar
Of receptive ears and supple minds,
In full aquiescence and total trust.
You heard them amid your
'How do you do' and 'Have a great day';
You made it collective..., the healing,
The freedom to laugh, to listen and talk,
To escape in the wisdom of no escape,
Among the faces faced throughout the day.
Strange, how it all still works--
Your body on the mend, and we,
Back from our shifts, refreshed
After one night of taking care of you.
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