LOVE IN WARD THREE

I saw her first through
a haze of throbbing pain and
mind-mooshing pain-killers.
Her face, angel lovely, bent over
mine, asked if I wanted ice
on my lips. Her voice was
a purr. Later, in brighter
light, I saw all of her.
The sight fueled my fantasies
for years afterwards.

Then, though, it was love.
I didn't need Ernest
Hemingway to tell me
that young men in pain
will fall helplessly
hopelessly in love
with young nurses.

When I asked her name
she said Cassandra
but my friends call me
Sandy. May I call you
that? I asked. O yes
she said and smiled
me back to sleep.