On Understanding Inanimate Objects | Shiyuan Wang (12)

The car’s headlights winked lazily at me

Once, twice, as it turned into the parking lot

At a snail's pace; I deduce it must be drifting off to sleep

A disheveled paper bag scuttles across the road

Its journey ends in shreds caught within tire treads

I listen to the beeping vitals of the patient next door

Reassuring in its steady rhythm

Falling in and out of sync with my own

Before a doctor enters and

Removes the pulse oximeter clamped around my finger

Severs the connection between our machines

Quietly I mourn for them

For a budding romance cut short

A whirlwind of nurses come and go

I can’t seem to remember their faces

Like how I failed to read my mother’s

As she sat outside in the waiting room, poised

Like a delicate vase of lilies

Her face blank, her eyes downcast, searching

For a route through my eyes, into my soul

But I keep my gaze trained on

The printer choking on its own paper

A tree laying defeated along the sidewalk

Imbuing them with my own quiet devastation

While my mother stands right there

Still as a statue

For I had encased her in marble

Sealed away the creases in her face

Sculpted her indifference and impassiveness

With my own mental chisels

So there she stood, my mother

In the back of my mind, looming over my every thought

Her chin held high, disapproval

Shines like a glossy sheen in her eyes

When I had been prospecting for nuggets of humanity

In paper cups, plastic utensils, a crumpled hospital gown

Has it ever occurred to me that I had misjudged

The stray tear tumbling down her cheek?