On a Rock:
I've seen him in the halls Taking away empty beds from the unit Returning them newly occupied Paper blue scrubs and a cap Always a smile Brighter than scialytic lamps Always a "How ya doin'?" It's been fourteen years I couldn't even tell you his name Though I've always known (Without really knowing) Exactly the measure of his soul It wasn't until today that the concrete evidence bared itself On the concrete of a hospital sidewalk Leaving after hours of Listening Sipping coffee on the back of a question no one can answer Chuckling at the flimsy hold on "Here's how it must be done" The experts seem to have He passes me "How ya doin'!" Before I can answer, I see him trip over a rock I start to smile To make a joke Silenced Profundity outpacing my wit I watch him turn back Pick up the rock Throw it into the pile Away from the foot traffic of Sick patients Frightened family members New moms carrying New humans Not cursing his misfortune His stumble His delay Simply Taking the lesson And applying it So that it might keep others safe And I? I learned something deeper And holier In that moment Than in the previous four hours of academia I cannot tell you his name But I can tell you He is benevolent compassion Made flesh