The hospital is a place of commerce.
A whole industry formed around healing.
But for her there is no healing.
Under her robe, a body of pain.
They sanitize the smell of death.
Bleached is the stench of decay.
She moans, "Doctor, do you know?"
"Do you have an answer?"
"Do you have any relief for me?"
But there is no healing today, and no miracles.
Just sterilized hallways painted off-white.
If there was a healer, I would reach for him.
If there was hope of relief, I would stretch out my hand.
And maybe I could touch him.
Even just the hem of his robe.