The Last Dance
My patient was a dancer
the contour of her face
infinitely delicate
set in hardened determination
her sunken eyes
betrayed the fire behind her fight
She never spoke
but told me of her pain
with each examination
and injection
her cries filled the silent music
echoing through her room.
Last night
on rounds
I saw her dance
against the shadows on teh wall
her gown fluttering
with whispers of bittersweet peace
so exquisite
her tiny feet lifting above the sheets
I turned away at the orchestra’s finale
closing the door on her final bow
–the monotone wail from the EKG machine
followed me down the hall.