Passing by,
standing out
loud in the soft silence
of hospital corridors.
The stranger-
in the far
corner-
reading the
Bible.
Yearning, for
company.
Drawn, by His
presence,
you sit.
Speaking of day
to day cares,
medicines, taken-
to a stranger;
who doesn’t
know, label,
and see you,
as walking dead.
You worry,
for your son;
what will he
do, when you’re
gone?
Here, beside me,
Briefly, reading
your pain.
“Is it cancer?”
“A cyst, we thought,
but no, not a cyst.”
There’s your
ride, into
the light,
smiling,
at peace,
a moment,
with a
stranger.
Four-Calendar Café 