at the lobby of the children’s hospital where 
upstairs my sister is fading. My vigil grows weary too. 

My old eyes envision a tunnel out of this too bright hallway
back to our childhood when we were coal miners, our quarry
built from wooden chairs and soothing blankets. It was a sturdier
time when we went searching for our first prizes.  

I bang the clock against my head but its arms will not turn back.
Even with buckets of tears, my eyes cannot wash your image clean. I
kick the clock in its hands and still, no budging. Everything is failing.
My eyes beg for a miracle but only shadows remain.

Their long arms grab at me from the corners of my eyes.
Cowards retreat when my vision adjusts to their presence.
Now only this stark white hall is left between us. Are you upstairs crying too?
Is someone there with a kerchief to catch your falling tears?

I’ll never forget all the things I’ve done wrong, or forgive the fist-shaped vital organ
in my chest beating in spite of you. I will beat it instead as a bloody head
against all those who wish well for me. For you, I will become

inconsolable.