At eleven that night,
they took you away
masked your face,
We all were healers then -

Heads bowed in supplication,
stretchering you out,
doors closed finally - 
as you nearly departed.

we remained afterwards, 
drawing our coverlets closer,
waiting in convalescence,
expecting healing by morning -

but between wake up calls,
and cut lunches, all left 
unwrapped - a breakfast now 
belated due to that one call

their serious tone meant to 
stay my calm - didn't sedate me -
my coffee never burnt my lips,
shards scattered to the floor, 
never can I sweep them up.