Hope

   By: Savannah Hoyt

  At

    Nanny’s

     house I can

   hardly hear over

  her breathing machine,

I feel my nose getting tingly trying

not to cry, I feel her soft hands on my face

promising me that everything will be okay,

the bitter taste of lost hope hits me like a train,

seeing her purple cheeks, red nose, not being able to

hug her right without hitting her new permanent necklace,

I just think back to when she didn’t have that tube down her throat,

the long nights we would spend together, those nights were like no other we would

spend hours laughing until our eyes got watery and our stomachs begged us to stop, those

are the nights I will remember instead of those nights at the hospital full of despair, the uplifting nights

are the nights that make our hope rush back like a stampede.