Usually, the windows are gray
and splendid in their width
allowing the bed-ridden
to view the traffic below
or the weather outside.

Usually, the doctors have sharp noses
and eyeglasses
that fix the distance between them and pain.

Usually, relatives leave
flowers at room entrances
with prayers seeking forgiveness
from their future dead.

Usually, unadorned women
walk the hallway tiles,
and sons stand under light fixtures
clutching x-ray files
affirming that cruelty can fade away
if only their parents had more time.

Usually, everything recurs
and the wards are filled with new bodies
as if a punctured lung
has sucked away all the world's oxygen
leaving all these chests
to suffer from shortness of breath.