Passing
By Cynthia S.
I sit at your bedside
in this small room
noting your hand
is cool in mine.
The room is warm,
humid, and this
chair gives reality
to my discomfort.
I know you hear me.
your fingers with
gentlest pressure
try to console me.
You whisper “thank youâ€Â
then the room, too small
too warm, shrinks
you leave with a smile.
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