A new poem by Michael Lithgow

Hospital morning

I awoke in my hospital bed with the weak light
of pre-dawn slinking into the room. I saw
the tops of far-off buildings appear like small
teeth on the horizon, and from within my white
cocoon even the hallways looked soft in a light
that moved like mist, and these were not soft halls.
The nurses were next, as if moving through walls
from room to room with their tackle and lifelines.
The sun screeched finally over the horizon
practically igniting the place. I heard the labours
of a woman straining for breath behind a curtain
that hid nothing.  The young and mighty doctors
arrived to receive our auction of hopes like praise,
their smiles tight, our pleas bright and obscure.