© Christy Lucas, MD
Penn State College of Medicine Alumnus, 2020
1, 2, 3, 4, 5—Breathe.
Water sloshing out the tub,
Pounding on your chest—
Pleading for a mere lub-dub—
Body floating in arrest.
Knees buckling at the doorway,
Struggling to stand with all my might.
Pausing to pray, as your body lay
White as snow, life taking flight.
Sirens blaring up the street,
Scurrying curiously ’cross the floor.
From the stoop—scooped off my feet,
Herding this sheep out the door.
Blanketed with warmth and peppermint,
A sweet neighbor attempting distraction.
But Aquaman offered only a glint,
Left questioning what would happen.
Ushered home without you,
A phone ring soon pierced the hush:
Worst case scenario came true—
Blood pooling in legs, face aflush.
Your purse, keys, and shoes,
Remaining by the door,
Fooled me to search for you—
Yearning one moment more.
Scrambling to find your Sunday best,
Even appealing to Santa’s elves,
I grabbed you gutchies for eternal rest,
Tearing-up, tearing-up shelves.
At last I could see you, now in repose,
So, I donned my Christmas best early—
Smooth shiny shoes smooshing toes,
Patting down hair, all curly.
Peacefully you lay, soundly asleep,
And instinctively I sought your caress.
Neither a stir, nor a peep—
Parceling me with distress.
Kneeling at your box with a loud clack—
Now a moment that forever lingers—
You didn’t squeeze back—
Cold, hard hand: warm, soft fingers.
Returning home, water sloshing out the tub,
Pounding in my chest—
I had pleaded for a mere lub-dub—
Body floating in arrest.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5—Breathe.