Stride up the incline
toward the patient wing,
a windowless hallway
with institutional green walls
knowing neither sun nor shade:
an ascent into decline.
Pass the wall of memorial boards,
covered with brass plaques,
marking residents
who ended life here
(as if a reminder is necessary).
Then under the ceiling
that leaks in heavy rains.
Next the courtyard
where save for extreme weather
some always sit
in wheel chairs, still
enjoying their cigarettes.
Finally the wing’s double doors,
guarding entry and exit.
Since my patient transferred
I come here often.
I’ve cared for her over twenty years.
I doubt we’ll make twenty-one.
My feet know the way without me.
The staff greet me; I’m a regular.
Decay is pervasive -
in both the drab walls
and those inhabiting them.
Odors of dried urine
and body lotion blend.
The two dance together
just below the ceiling,
an olfactory canopy
of despair and resignation.
Medicine now does little
for my patient’s frail
ninety-two year body.
Infirmity succumbs to infirmity,
yet her mind remains firm.
Poetry, photos and stories
replace new pills and procedures.
They work for short periods,
and bring smiles to her thin saddened face.
I will continue these visits
despite their pain.
Abandonment is not an option.
On the final part of our journey
caring has replaced healing,
soothing has replaced science.
April, 2008