I wish to take passage
on the light of your deeds.
Which one of you
took my hand and held it?
In sorrow and illness
how warm it felt!
Which one of you said,
all right, all right,
it will be all right,
and I closed my eyes comforted.
A job. A profession. A calling.
Which day did you feel
tired or joyous
as you listened carefully,
giving shots,
writing summations,
and diaries of ending
or recovery?
How many years is it?
For you,
for every patient?
For some a century of suffering,
a little girl,
a little boy,
a frightened mother,
a man knowing when he closed
his eyes,
they would never open.
Which one of you closed your eyes?
None.
None!
Which one of you bore wounds?
All of you.
All of you!
Which of you said,
what use?
Then went on because you said,
I must.
I will!
To understand everything.
Another day, saying
I am a nurse, healer, comforter,
and servant.
Mother, father, grandparent,
alumna, alumnus,
among my kind,
my friends,
companions,
students,
meeting together.
And around us
the crowd we touched in life,
their hands now touching us,
on the passageway
to God.