I watched the IV drip sway like a metronome,
counting each beep as if it were a sermon.
Outside, the wind rattled the window like applause
for something I’d never performed.
I told the nurse once I was afraid of dying.
She laughed, just a little,
and said, “Nobody’s not afraid.”
But I swear I heard her heartbeat skip
when the old man down the hall screamed.
I used to climb trees barefoot,
thinking gravity would forgive me.
Now I sit in a plastic chair,
thinking mortality is just gravity with a suit on.
And still, I write on scraps of paper,
fingers trembling,
because maybe one day
someone will read it
and hear the sound of courage
inside the sound of a heart that didn’t quit.