An African American woman lays 

In the sterile white bed

She has a glass of flowers in full bloom

Her hands are neatly manicured 

I come in quietly 

Introducing myself 

And the function of my presence: 

Just to sit and listen or to

Chit chat a bit I always say sweetly 

The woman tells me of her younger days 

Singing for her local church 

Her love for the songs

And her love for her religion shines 

On her weary face 

I’ve been battling lymphoma 

She says quietly 

Her voice is raspy with age and her battle 

I tell her that 

She is probably still 

A beautiful singer

Before I know it 

A beautiful melody 

Filters through the quiet air 

She powerfully sings 

The song of her youth 

Her voice cracks and dips

But it is the most pure song 

The most real thing 

I have ever listened to 

I smile quietly 

Thank you I say 

You are beautiful 

After a couple moments of 

Comfortable silence 

She tells me 

Out of the blue 

You’re really pretty 

I smile and shake my head 

I remember clearly 

Not even brushing my hair 

That morning 

Thank you

Is all I can say 

And as I bid her adieu 

After more sweet moments 

I rest my hands in hers 

I wish you peace and comfort 

I think to myself

As I look into her eyes 

Willing her to believe 

But I already know 

She’s in good hands already 

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