The chapel across the hall
is a welcome respite
from the ruthless beep of machines,
the worried whispers of families shuffling two by two
into that holy of holies,
overcrowding the room with sorrow and anxiety.
I lay my burden down for a moment
in front of the altar,
the dim light a momentary refuge
for my red eyes and cracking heart.
I don’t pray so much as sigh,
arm around my sister.
This space is too small for all this life and death.
On another floor
I can almost hear the sigh of remission,
the happy wail of a baby
who’ll grow up
to sit in a chapel like this,
pleading not so much for life