The 'Professional' Her Heart Poem by James McLain

Being just released from the hospital
a few days past,
let us reflect a moment in a short prayer.
Chronic pain had nearly robbed
me of grace, being civil under stress
was nearly out of the question.
Yes, 'being so near to death, many
times in my life.
Leaves me a bit phobic of hospitals
perhaps in my youth, it is by a few, 'known.
At first being around so many, nurturers
left me feeling guilty,
ashamed at my child like, 'naivety.
One nurse after my pain subsided
and my trying to charm her, 'said'
We are professionals,
I am not here to make, friends.
Being, 'Russian and well disciplined
left me deep in thought, as I had never in my
extensively traveled...did you smile?
Having ever met a real, 'Russian woman.
Asking of her:
to draw close, near to my lips, with her good ear.
Drawing upon, what I had not used in a while,
showing no fear, a Russian..woman of heart.
The voice coming from deep down inside.
Like the wind slowly building, moving the trees
seven levels of octaves password, downward and
downwards, moving the hair of the fine inner ear
shaking the thin parabolic tympanist membrane,
that wards off and guards the moist inner ear.
Shaking loose in a good way, three hearing bones
and being in a profession holding full of discernment
with empathy she having much richness of heart,
her face relaxed and briefly she went back to some
place far away and I have a better understanding
from whence comes my pain and they made me feel
and were all full of grace, unafraid of those words
before one looks in the eyes of the other, we see.