The Abandonment Of Beauty At Allen Memorial Hospital

When the polite, almost noiseless doctors
invited Mr. Death into our conversation, my heart sang out.
Not from their words,
because words make you accountable;
they said it with their grim countenance,
and with the weight of their bodies in the space we shared.
I could see Mr. Death
appear in a corner of the midnight window,
and though he would not come into the light,
I knew he had his eye on me.
Oh where was beauty when I needed it.
How it turned away;
how it had loved me throughout my life like no one else,
then in the end meant nothing.

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