Candle Power in Intensive Care <br /> <br />The unction cools my brow; the candle shines <br />and forms a line of sacramental brede. <br />The priest half-chants the text, and makes the signs, <br />jogging my mind with the redemptive creed <br />I learned to lisp in church. A night-shift nurse <br />shows up with rosary beads and borrowed shawl. <br />I squeeze my morphine pump: the pain is worse. <br />A gurney clatters down the empty hall. <br /> <br />I wonder what my blur of being meant <br />To warrant such precautionary flush; <br />I wonder why the candle's Sunday scent <br />expands and cloys the sterile room. A hush <br />folds up all sound; the candle snuffs its flame, <br />a wisp absconds with my stowaway name.<br /><br />William F Dougherty<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-crab-sonnets-i/
