Hospital (For Emily)

I hold your hand in my hand.
It is not enough.
I didn't come here to greet you.

I long to lie down beside you,
wrap my arms about you,
as I did when you skinned your knee
and your world collapsed.

My job then was to comfort and protect you.

You know I tried;
then we both grew up and moved away
to our adult lives.

You have your own child and a husband.

The hospital bed is not kind
and the many tubes
coming out of your arms
seem almost alive,
a creature that is seeking to eat you,
though I know it feeds.

It is painful to have nothing to do,
but that's my need.
You haven't the strength for a smile.
You’re as pale as bread.