Wondersmith West Discussion Forum Hosted by Alice C. Bateman: Divine Encounter

Divine Encounter

The nurse cupped my elbow,
Led me to one side, a vending bay.
Two ripped plastic seats.
She sat next to me,
Held my hands.
She leaned forward,
Asked me to look into her eyes.
Through a watery veil,
Her head did a three dimensional jig,
I could tell she wasn’t smiling.
My stare fell,
Focused on a small bin
Overflowing with wrappers
And stained cups.
I inhaled stale coffee and disinfectant.
A giant drinks machine
Wore a stupid clown face.
One wide eye winked, as if to say,
“C’mon, lighten up mate.”
Its mouth, slightly askew,
Formed a speechless, dark ‘O’.
I needed to hear the voice of an Angel.
A trolley rattled by,
Complete with drips
And frantic escorts in green gowns.
Then it was gone down the corridor,
Leaving a thinning speech trail of frenetic voices.
The nurse held my face,
Turned my head towards her,
Asked me to focus.
We all, at some time,
Fall in love with a nurse,
And this was one of those moments.
I saw her clearly
And she had the voice of an Angel.
She spoke quietly, reassuringly,
Said she would stay with me, for as long as it takes.
Busy nurses can’t waste time,
Not with the likes of me.
But she said her shift ended ten minutes ago,
And was in no hurry to go home,
It was 3am and a wild tempest played outside.
Cigarettes and lighter fell from my pocket to the floor,
She picked them up, lit one, passed it to me,
I pointed to the ‘no smoking’ sign,
She laughed, said it was not a hanging offence,
Maybe, at times like this, tobacco was medicinal.
I felt so insignificant to the world,
Yet so vital, so essential, to this nurse.
Yet it was this Angel
That was of such great import, so critical,
To me.

Why is it so difficult – indeed punishing,
To perform the simplest of tasks.
At some point that night,
She’d given me her phone number.
I wanted to ring her and thank her,
I didn’t know her name.
On the third day, casting all fears aside,
(What would I have to fear?)
I rang her.
And stumbled through words and silences.
Answering machines
Listen with deaf ears, they don’t answer.
I have a burning desire to ring again,
I have to thank her,
Tell her how I truly feel.
But I know, deep inside,
That if she answered,
Then I would be clueless.
She was my Angel for dark and vacant hours.
I would say that perhaps she’s not real,
Except I know that she is ………..
We’re both out there ………..
Waiting.