Who, if not me will remember…
That she lay in Room 724,
at the very end of a long, austere hallway?
Who will remember the length of her hair,
and to which side of the pillow her head lay; which of her cheeks touched the pillow, as she gathered her last, labored breaths?
I studied her.
Each rise and fall of her chest, noted which temple was kissed by the imperfection of her skin spot.
I am a visitor, looking through a similar plastic visor as all the doctors and nurses; we all look like surgeons. CV-19-PPE
My arms covered in the same plastic, swishing with each deft movement.
How many have thought “her hair looks quite lovely”?
Though it is hard to see her, in this state.
This state is not imperfect.
Her life has been a landmark,
and a guide for many.
Home has always been on Loretta;
because she was there.
Now, she points the way to another home
and reminds us…
That this is not our home,
we are only guests.
Landmarks, of what is to come.