Small consolation

He stares like so many dreams Cast in the depth of space.

“Will I get better doctor? Will I return to normal human being?”

I am only a medical student. He will teach me for an hour.

A classic temporal lobe brain tumour: He cannot remember my name for minutes But he knows he'll be operated on tomorrow. It's engraved there, etched so strongly by fear. It remains his only hope.

“That's what your doctor says, isn't it?” I reply, Knowing his doctor can know no more than I. Statistics are always a prayer or a curse.