A poem I wrote at the children’s hospital

I wrote this while we were in the waiting room at Children’s National Hospital earlier this month. I don’t know if the quality is that great, since I wrote it and didn’t really edit it at all, but I felt like I had to try to capture the space, and the mood, and the feel. It was one of the most poetic places I have been in a while. The poem doesn’t seem to follow many writing rules, but it was what was happening around me. I wrote this in the notes app since I didn’t have any paper.

Children’s hospital

Forgotten crayon on the floor
Yellow, alone on polished cold tile
Mickey and Minnie frolic on tv
Above a woman with her head in her hands
Children’s cries. Cranky. Tired.
Kids’ waiting room at the surgical center.

Bright painted walls. Blue, green, purple
Elmo, Moana, colored carefully or scribbled
Equally displayed, Scotch taped to doors
Edges flap as blue paper cap wearers
Rush through. Hurry, hurry
Kids’ waiting room at the surgical center.

Quarts of hand sanitizer
Join tinsel and gnomes by the silvery tree
No eating
No drinking
Kids hunger and thirst, parents must too
“Take it out,” warns reception. Offenders comply.
Kids’ waiting room at the surgical center.

Filling out forms, swiping through phones
Texting ‘no news yet’ to loved ones at home
An empty car seat at the feet of Grandma
Waiting for good news
And a small one back in her arms
Mom with tan backpack called out with her teen
Kids’ waiting room at the surgical center.

Dad grips white bag of somebody’s clothes
Twists the band strapped to his wrist,
Bar code printed by somebody’s name
Mama brings in a very small wheelchair
Warm jacket and marble game tucked
In the seat
Speaks on her phone in an unknown language
Smiles and laughs, then her voice goes soft
Kids’ waiting room at the surgical center.

My child hungers. She closes her book
And now scrolls cat memes, sharing a curated handful with me
“I think that’s A.I.” I say, and
She doesn’t mind. Her leg bounces lightly
Betraying her calm cool classy demeanor
Our pager lies silent, useless, as we shift in hard seats
Kids’ waiting room at the surgical center.

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