She was on the bed,
the sheet pulled up to her neck,
jaw slack.
Metal arms rose from
plastic and dialed boxes
connected by tubes.
Harsh fluorescent light
reflecting off white sterile walls.
Rubber gloves,
disposable syringes,
clipboards and stethoscopes
all discarded.
The life monitor is unplugged.
I smell rubber and metal.
Disinfectant stings my nose.
Sterility, and for the first time
Death.
The hard tile beneath my feet,
carefully regulated coldness.
I reach for my mother’s hand,
concentrate on my uncle’s sniffling,
listen to my aunt shuffle her feet,
as the minister prays.