Nursing Home Visit

In younger days

Her friends brought her to Monaco by night,

To witness a city lit up like strobing firecrackers.

She was approached by a handsome gentleman there,

And she'll tell you of his slick, raven  black hair and tuxedo.

She'll tell it to anyone who listens.

She watched the night swimmers disrobe in the sea,

Moonlight tracing their shapes in  lavender hues.

She was not embarrassed to live that moment,

And now to speak it, as if to re-live  it.

She enlisted to help in times of war,

And proudly served the wounded boys.

The blood she saw was crimson,

And the olive uniform she served in

Came across like gold itself.

Her stories are not sepia toned.

She doesn't see now,

But she smiles, implying illumination,

With eyes open, and dull.

She cherishes now the times she lived  vividly,

If not wisely,

And sight exists only in memory.

The colors and forms of those moments  are all she sees.

While laying solitary,

Skin pale like tissue,

White hair against a stale pillowcase,

In a room decorated with dust colored  industrial tiles.

Scott Carrington, M.D.

Class of 2000

Third Place, Poetry