Madeline Jacobson
Lavender Room

I see the nurses brought lavender, a feeble attempt to remind you
Of the comforts of home that have been stripped away
Along with the treasured splash-of-color mementos you clung to
Until you moved to this sterile room of dull gray
Complete with closed blinds for the contemplation
Of the number of breaths you have left to draw
With the oxygen bottles that, to your frustration,
Reveal what you believe is a shameful flaw
There's silence stretching the room
Mixing with the stale air and growing heavy
I choke on the overpowering cherry blossom perfume
Of the well-intentioned nurse, here to offer up tea
I drink it and try to ignore the scent
Of the lavender plant, dying and bent.