it's you

In the Grand Scheme of It All,
truth rides in on small things –
the way a shooting star
defines the Universe
in a fleeting gesture
of magnificent futility.

In the Giant Medical Center,
we stood beside the bed,
the small room stuffed
with relatives and machines,
neither saying much
of anything.

We came bearing Cupcakes:
chocolate, at his wife’s request –
our small gesture of
confectionery compassion.
My wife asked the ailing
octogenarian to

Name three highlights . . .”

“That’s easy,” he said
and then he reached out
his hand across the bed rail
and took her hand
so familiar, and said,
“It’s you.”

Peace,
Milton