east highway 67

four black commas
feather topknots
a quad of quails
ran before my car's trail
into the scrub and under the live oaks.

my silver station wagon,
trunk filled with sterile gauze and foleys,
took me downhill
after seeing a patient
and his family.

two redhawks
sat on black wire
on my right side
as i drive uphill - same day.

my gray carpet has
red granite crystals
from the mountaintop driveway
from the first trip.

in a room filled with family,
with neighbors, i enter.
the vigil now a wake.
i sip ice tea and listen.

long day at work, i say later.
emergency call, i explain.
everything ok, i hope? a friend asks.
he knows i'm a hospice nurse.

likely my ok is different from his.
but i hope the answer is

yes.