it is 1:00 am
it is dark outside the fifth floor window
the soft-electric light of a vital signs monitor
glows inside the modular room
I hear the chatter of nurses in the hall
the door to the room is slightly ajar
they come and go in the dark
to turn my brother and bring him meds
dilaudid, ativan,
haldol
the room is warm and dry
sterile like a hospital room…
it is a hospital room
my younger brother is lying
in a hospital bed
he is forty-nine years old
my younger brother is dying
the air compressor at the foot of his bed is humming
the inflatable mattress he is lying on fills and empties
something that reminds of me of surprise crosses his face when it
happens
as if he were rising
on a cloud before being slowly let down
as if he were being cradled in a perfect little metaphor
for the experiences we have between birth and the grave
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