Shackles

KATIE PIVARNIK

 

​

Thick brown biceps peered from under the faded green johnnie.

Heavy brows framed the deep, dark eyes surveying my every movement.

Strong legs bulged under a canopy of cotton blankets.

I reached to assess his pulse, my white hands encircling his silvery cuff

Chained to his bedrail, his breath rippled toward my face and filled my nostrils.

We breathed the same air, the patient and I.  

Not a prisoner here. No. My patient.

​