We worked over the years
To make a good death.
To be there. To give comfort.
So, she could pass in peace.
No peace now. No comfort now.
No chaplain holding her hand Reading the 23rd Psalm.
Somehow, The 23rd Psalm from behind a N95 face mask
And a plastic gown, just Isn’t the same.
Just a lonely death, in an antiseptic room.
She died on the battlefield.
In a war, she couldn’t hide from.
No letter home to family, from her commanding officer.
No Purple Heart, no saving of her fellow soldiers with a heroic act.
What’s left is grief, loss, and “what could have beens.”
What’s left is a wound,
that may never heal.