How sparkling the snow
 This morning!
         (Her hair mats with sweat,
          Not brushed away)
 It drifts across the 
 Sidewalks, so pure, so
 Soft, so cold.
         (She is sixteen)
 The wind must have 
 Swirled here, in this
 Bare spot between buildings,
 As it always does.
         (The sound of her
          Respirator is of cars
          Skidding, over and over).
 Bedside radios talk
 To squares of light
 Falling on her bed
 In shapes of windows.
  
  
  
 In: Group Practice Journal ©1987 American Medical Group Association (AMGA).