From this side of this window-
through this glass looking
down seventeen stories –
the world is a odd place.
.
The smell of rain
has become a distant memory.
Taxi cabs ā thick bugs.
People- so much seed
scattered on a hard path.
.
Who would have thought
a tiny swish rising
through a stethoscope
could so change everything.
.
Here we are a congregation
Of the suspended ā
Inhabitants of a sanitized purgatory –
A communion of those who wait.
.
Here the priests and prophets
wear blue scrubs
and white paper masks.
.
Why, I ask, is it that your tiny heart,
no larger than your tiny hand,
should refuse to grow?
What providence has brought us here?
What karma? There is no answer
.
so we wait.
We wait for our names to be called.
We wait.
– Bill Cook
Ā© 2011, poem, Bill Cook, All rights reserved
Photo courtesy of morgueFile
Re-blogged with the permission of Bill Cook, Poetry Matters. Bill is an Ordained Elder in the United Methodist Church, serving a wonderfully diverse congregation.
- His church: St. Paul UMC, Willingboro NJ.
- BA. English Lit., Rutgerās, the State University, New Brunswick NJ.
- M Div. New Brunswick Theological Seminary New Brunswick NJ.
- D Min. Wesley Theological Seminary, Washington DC.
The BeZine 
This poem is so very tender, Bill.
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Heartfelt and poignant. Nothing worse than watching a tiny one struggle for life.
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This is a spectacular poem.
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The tiny swish and the waiting…in the moment, no judgment but plenty of questions…the suspension is the experience. Very authentic, to my mind. Bravo!
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Having just returned from the Polio clinic, an d the inevitable reminder that childhood lingers, I found your poem poignant and timely. Thank you!
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I would say that a desperately ill child touches our mortality and love most profoundly.
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Indeed a tender verse and a question of ‘why’ such things are part of a child’s life.
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Thank you Bill, for this reminder of the fragility of all life. A beautiful reminder to be mindful and grateful for the moments we have– however long we receive this gift.
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How nice to “see” Bill again. It’s been a long while and I always valued his work.
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Yes it is. He is a fine poet and a decent person.
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I understand far too well Bill! Faithfully Debbie
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š¦ How awful to have to wait in such circumstances. You captured that horrible feeling of limbo (“the waiting IS the hardest part”, as Tom Petty sang) perfectly. The grey and rainy image you used goes well with the sterility and harshness of the hospital scene. With the spiritual aspect/metaphors so closely entwined in this piece, I kept looking for some small sign of hope at the end. But that you chose not to show us any only hammers home the sense of helplessness and despair. I think this is a well-wrought poem. I can only hope it is not from a personal experience, and if so, you have my deepest sympathies for having to endure such things.
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