The Uncertainty of Night

A Poem by Ann E. Wallace

Ann E. Wallace

As hours meant to be quiet
and easy, shuffle by,
parceled into slow
minutes, I invite you
into my narrow bed.

You resist but need
an hour’s release before
you leave to direct the morning
funeral. You curl tight
beside me under the cotton
blanket. We share
the thin pillow.

Behind our curtain
in the staccato quiet
of the emergency
room, we sleep interrupted
by persistent beeps, by nurses
who take vitals, by doctors
who enter with probing
questions and hands. Your
answers project calm as I lay
prone, the panic building.

At dawn you leave
to calm the grief
of families not your own,
but first, you sit
in my car and sob,
as I am wheeled alone
into the operating
room where a team
will continue to look
for answers.

First published in Eunoia Review

Ann E. Wallace’s poetry collection, Counting by Sevens, is forthcoming from Main Street Rag and is available now for advance order at https://mainstreetragbookstore.com/product/counting-by-sevens-ann-e-wallace/. Recently published pieces in journals such as Snapdragon, Wordgathering, The Literary Nest, Rogue Agent, and Riggwelter can be found on her website AnnWallacePhD.com. She lives in Jersey City, NJ and is on Twitter @annwlace409.

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