Unkind

I count the little beauties.

One daughter said goodbye
The last night her mother was alert.

Two friends who had been away
Visited that night as well.

A church body brings meals
For the foreseeable future.

Friends and family even now
Gathering.

A community given a week
To say goodbye.

I rage against the whole.

The hundred days and more of anguish,
For the ill and the remaining.

The hospital, new and bright though it may be,
Rather than a home.

The bludgeon of the entirety,
Rather than a caress.