“You’re okay.
Go home to your mother,
She’s waiting,”
An annoyed neighbor was saying.
My knee throbbing, my blood dripping,
I knew the crack in the sidewalk
Was gloating as I limped home
Holding back blameless tears.
This stiff, bleached hospital bed is not ours.
Ours is soft and molded to our bodies.
I’d go home if I had the strength, but
Why are you, my love, holding me so,
Saying in soothing whispers,
“We’re okay. It’s all right.
Go home to your mother,
She’s waiting.”
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