Celebrating Nurses

Poem: Is There a Nurse in the House?

It’s the nurse who answers when your suffering is unbearable,

when you’re tired, troubled, or tormented.

Your family has gone home; it’s the nurse who remains, a guardian of your pain.

Home is here for now, where only the drugged or nearly dying sleep.

Home is bright in sterility, bereft of familiar comfort.

Flowers wilt on window sills for lack of care.

Baskets of candied concoctions sit for days,

snacks only starving visitors will try.

What home is this that keeps you cold, calm, monitored by blips?

Here, it is a nurse who guides you through a maze of paperwork,

winks, smiles, and becomes your partner in crime.

Doctors proclaim, explain, but nurses stay.

It is a nurse who may remember you.

You before the IV drip,

You just yesterday, digging up your garden, planting hope in dirt.

You when sickness was for someone else.

You when you drove around town, worked and laughed about a certain future.


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