Isabel Borgers

Stopped at the traffic light
I idly observe
people hurrying across
the skyway
from the parking garage
to the hospital
wondering at this solitary glimpse
a fragment of their lives
the time it takes for the light to change

The silver ribs of the suspended
sidewalk hold
clear glass panels together
its carpeted floor
bears the weight of souls—
nurses and other staff leaving
friends or family coming
holding a paper wish
get well soon

The light turns green,
and I inch towards
the car in front of me
taking one last glance
at the skyway,
just in time to see a woman
in heels walking
to the hospital
holding flowers.