It rained last night as I slept

unaware; in Room 375 you can

barely hear the outside world

except for the beeping of machines

and emergency codes announced. 

At some point it was cold, too cold

as I thrashed at the shores of sleep

listening to my daughter as she breathed,

even and easy. This morning 

I was surprised by the dampness, 

sat with my chai on a stool

by the roadside and watched the world 

as it slashed into normalcy of a day;

carrying people, staff, visitors, 

worried faces avoiding puddles,

the puppy cold and curled, taxis waiting

to take the discharged home, maybe?

The doctors arrive in fancy cars, the nurses

in buses of pink uniforms, just another day

at Apollo or in any world where I want

all its favours. But the world is closing in, 

it’s favours few. For my girls I want a future

unwracked by the wretch it made of me,

I want them to bear witness to the world

in all its glory. I did not flinch, I did not flinch

when it felled me, not really. I held my hand

out, into the sun, towards my children

or think I did, the best way I could.

We owe it to each other, to not lament 

alone, to come together when possible,

exposing ourselves to scrutiny. In my ruins

the questions I never really asked in words:

How can I help? What do you need? 

How will I know, HOW will I know?