Sanguine

Hundreds of different bandages,

For hundreds of different wounds.

Some with silver, some with glue,

Some that cover most of you.

This one in my hand

To contain maggots

While they eat

The dead flesh around a wound.

Insect-like vultures

Subsisting off decay.

If blight should red or green or blue,

Antiseptic solutions for that too.

Every answer to every question

Understood by spinning blood

And squinting at urine.

What I’ve learned from this place,

Sanguine in both definitions

Can be present in one body

That’s clinging to a bed

In a crowded hallway.

Medicine is a nice way of saying

A poison that we trust.

“This is going to hurt a little bit”

Means this will be torture.

That the suffering of those

That wail like feral beasts

Are beyond dignity

Looking only for survival.

“Decreasing quality of life” means that

This person isn’t worth many more dollars.

Mostly I’ve learned that hope

Is the ultimate trump card,

Hope covers all bad news

Is a treatment for any diagnosis.

Peace can’t be prescribed

But can be spread by gentle hands

And kind words.

I only put gloves on a shelf,

Yet I now know the fingers

That will know them so well

Need my diligence

To impart some resilience.