The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
-William Carlos Williams
She was old and fragile
and I was just an intern
charged with guiding her care,
her seeing-eye dog in a city
But I was half-blind, and when I saw
a pulse in her jugular vein
I pressed my stethoscope to her
she inhaled and I heard crackles,
like static on a patrol car radio.
I guessed heart failure.
The answer was pneumonia.
Oh I caught my error the next
dripped in fluids and ampicillin,
but she'd been in bed one day too
the clot in her calf broken apart
and trapped in the lattice of her
I stood by her side, stunned
when her breathing stopped,
and I called the team, barked
orders at the Code. And I felt
like a killer cornered on a dead-end
cops and canines closing in,
thinking confession, still holding my