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Contributor: Christina Cruz

- -
The humming of the monitor
pierces my ears.

Suddenly the crowd of physicians vanish
and the room begins to fade
into a black space,
leaving the two of us alone.

As I stand in front of him,
taunted by his stillness,
my mind plays tricks
into making me think
that I see a pulse in his hand,
or a rising motion in his chest.

And the room torments me
with visions of another world.
One where I could still hold his hand.

Tears spill from my face
turning into an ocean.
And I desperately thrash through the
waves trying to reach him.

Completely and utterly isolated.
Everything was swept away,
including him.

- - -
Christina Cruz hates smiling. Instead she prefers staring blankly at people with her heterochromatic eyes. Her work has previously been published in Vox Poetica.


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