by Tracey Delaplain, MD
The cold bitter coffee had lost its comforting appeal hours ago. I swallowed the dregs anyway and swirled the remains absently.
Was it possible to read coffee grounds like tea leaves?
Keeping my distance, yet hungry for answers, I searched the bottom of the stained and rippled paper cup. So tired, raw, empty but still I sit vigil.
Penance? Perhaps. What if? Why this kid?
The ventilator bellows wheezed the last breath.
Empty questions, for in the end, I had pulled the plug myself.
Crumpled and spent, I tossed the cup and noted the time of death.
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