The Bruise

I press my fingers into the bruise
on the back of my right hand.
It does not hurt enough.
It does not take their pain away,
It does not save him.

Hand on top of hand, I did my best
to pump his dying heart back to life.
Never wishing so fervently
for a patient to open his eyes and smile at us
as we congratulate ourselves.

A slow leak in the brain
has left her a widow
with only one month in.
Does he have to die,
to remind us to live?

All of our tools could not compete.
Could not reverse the damage.
Still I plead with his heart.
Just start again
and we’ll give you what you want.

I press my fingers into the bruise
on the back of my right hand.
It does not hurt enough.
It does not take their pain away,
It does not save him.