Palliative Floor Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

I.V. tubes and blood,
medicines and moaning.
The dying are all here, together.
A special enduring reunion
of the Cancer Centre gang.

When the priest visits,
we talk about God.
Acceptance, understanding.
These are our topics
of conversation.

What is there to understand?
A question I keep inside...
Father speaks to me in tones
of empathy and support.
He's a nice man. Good man.

Down the hall is crying,
loud and desperately lost.
People walk by my door,
visitors and staff, going
about their business.
We all, on this floor,
are filled with stories.
Lives we've lived and
lives we are leaving.

Outside my window,
I see the tops of trees.
Closing my eyes,
I imagine I am
sitting under them