The Five Minute Cross
By Adolph Caso
In my hospital chair
I glance at the architecture outside
Enveloped by the blue color of the sky,
Creating and recreating itself
Into forms which are never the same,
Just like two snow-flakes falling to the ground.
The door bell rings.
My nurse turns towards me,
Her hand stretching forward
To welcome me into her world--
Her belly bulging!
“How many more months…?”
Not giving her a chance to answer,
I extend my hand as I always do,
Over the baby yet to be born:
With this humble hand,
I bless it.
On placing her hand over mine--
Of two races,
Become two humans
With the exception
Of receiving news
On her delivery day,
I continue to glance thru the pristine window.
My eyes follow
The contours of the gray building
In a mismatch of sizes and shapes
Having no order or designs
Defying my presence
They all stand still.
Suddenly, from the East,
Two thick lines of gray air
Bulkier to its extreme left,
One line extends itself east to west,
The other, north to south.
Thick and solid to the left--
And lighter to the right,
Its left outline strong and thick,
Its right line evanescent
As if I were watching
A Renaissance artist
Create the image on canvas;
I look at its large and white frame
Inject itself into the solid blue of a receptive sky.
Phone in hand,
I call my nurse to come back--
The digital clock registering 4:25,
I wait to see time moving on.
Finally, just as the clock is reaching 4:30,
She rushes in with a flustered look on her face
“Are you alright?” she blurts out.
Clutching her hand, I take her to the window.
“There, look: it’s about to disappear.”
Her eyes fixed on the phenomenon cross,
She squeezes my hand.
As the last part of the cross’ outline
Is about to disappear into the deep blue sky.
It is exactly 4:30.
Her mouth open,
She turns toward me:
“Jesus is back, “she asserts,
And quickly leaves the room.
Sitting on my hospital chair,
I ask myself in disbelief:
“What has just happened?”