Your Appointment Book is Empty

For Dr. Elizabeth Haughney

Your office is empty of you. Of the photos
of your daughter, Jess, framed on the walls
and desk. She’s seventeen now. How 
will we watch her grow? Where is your white coat?
The name tag on your pocket?
Your examining room is empty
of you. You can no longer shine a light at my eyes,
ask me to look this way and that. You can no longer be the hearer of my heart.

You bent to show me your first white hairs.
Why was Death in such a hurry
to make the world empty
of you?

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