I lie on this hospital bed in a crinkly paper gown,
Tubes and wires and monitors stay holding me down.
The thing I want most in this world is to hold my wife’s hand
As the hourglass of my life is running out of sand.
But my wife cannot enter, nor my son or my sister,
I’d never risk my wife to this illness no matter how much I missed her.
 
There’s not enough air in my lungs,
I feel like a fish out of water.
My eyelids get heavy
As my fever grows hotter.
I wish I was a better husband
Or kinder to my mother,
I could have cherished my daughter more
Or been a more supportive brother.
 
Elephants are stomping on my chest, not letting me breathe.
I want to scream “Get off of me!” But all that comes out is a weak wheeze.
And instead I start panicking, is it my time?
Can I finally rest from this tiresome climb?
 
And as I close my eyes, ready to give up my fight
That I’ve fought gallantly with all of my might,
The photo of my family is the last thing in my sight
And everything transforms into an expanse of white.
And oh, everything is so, so bright.
 
***
 
A buzz on my wrist alerts a new task
I let out a sigh that gets caught in my mask.
Room 354, I dash up the stairs
Panting as I breathe in the thick hospital air.
Inside the room a man lies on the bed.
By the straight line on the monitor, I see that he’s dead.
 
On the table beside him I notice two things:
A photo of smiling faces and a handwritten note.
I recognize the man in the photo
And I read through what he wrote.
He’s sorry to his family,
Why? Sorry for what?
His obvious love for these people
Hits me right in the gut.
 
He shouldn’t have died, he still had so much time.
He was stolen from his family, what a terrible crime.
But the perpetrator of this crime cannot be detained
This virus gone crazy; it can’t be contained.
 
 
As I drop into the chair beside the bed,
There are aches in my muscles and a pounding in my head.
I haven’t slept in over 36 hours
and I’m desperate for rest,
But there’s no time for a break now,
 too many patients to be addressed.
So instead of sleeping or crying like I wish I could
I take a deep breath, and pretend that I’m good.
The virus isn’t over, and there’s more work to be done
There are millions dead, and this is just one.