Double Room Oratorio

Through a sliver in the curtain 

at the foot of this bed

the wall clock is neatly stuck—

as if it aches for the hours here 

to pass in half the time. For an instant, 

a forearm spans the fluorescent rift, 

tucking a sharp into the lockbox 

mounted under the clock. I am lucky 

to nod awake and witness the riddle 

of Nurse’s shadow as she tends my 

 roommate, Mrs Sosa, whose distress 

is unending, even in sleep, or when 

her children read aloud from a digest 

 praising the scriptures. In Spanish, 

the hands of the Christ is so like Latin 

I almost hear myself singing Tantum 

 ergo, sacramentum in the darkened 

church at Friday night novenas sixty 

years ago—one of a handful of women

 and girls, huddled in pairs and threes, 

black mantillas grazing the turned-up 

collars of our thinning winter coats. 

Through gaps between lace and curls, 

between our mated half notes, appear 

the hands of a nurse, a midwife, 

a christ-clock stuck at midnight, 

bidding us exhale into the hymn.



—Calling All Poets 25th Anniversary Anthology, Spring 2024