Elaine Frankonis

Another noiseless night,
and, again, the ambulance
waits below her window,
its strobe striping red
through the slats
of her closed blinds.

She listens for whispers
in the long hallway,
some hint of who it is
this time --

maybe the frowning one
who drifts, slow in motion,
beside her grizzled
three-legged dog;

maybe that sweet sad man
who wheels himself each day at three
into the patch of sun at the front door;

or maybe someone still,
faceless, and frightened,
keeping silent vigil
until three a.m.