I ALWAYS FALL IN LOVE INSIDE HOSPITALS

It was theThe morphine when it arrived in my veins.The fresh sheets every twelve hours, the drain when it fell out—and doctors agreed it didn’t need to be put back in.The first time I sat without stitches popping;the pyjamas they cut off when I couldn’t move,the relief of air as they turned me.The arterial line as my blood pressure disappeared,the blood bank which saved me.The masks covering the doctor’s mouthsmeaning they could be saying anything.The nurse my age who cried in my room.The function of the heart other than love.