Sanguine
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.