Mexico

Dr. Michelle sent me the following text message on 1/12/2021, and then the poem. May every soul lost to Covid-19 Rest In Peace!

"I wrote a poem for the first time in years. It is the story of a Covid patient. It was written because after he died, his nurse told me that he had not wanted to be intubated, had said that he wanted to go back to Mexico and die on the beach. Then he asked the nurse if she would still be there when he got extubated. And that hurt my soul because he died instead of ever getting extubated..."

Mexico

By Michelle P. Zhang, MD

 

I don’t want to die here.

Take me back to the beaches of Mexico,

where the warm sun rays hit the ocean

in just such a way

that I see the reflections of my father’s hands

working hard to build our futures.

Take me back to where the salty winds blow

through the wide leaves of tall palm trees,

echoing the songs that my mother sang,

lulling me into the dreams of my youth.

 

I don’t want to die here.

Here, there are strangers –

their hands are foreign and aseptic,

covered in latex, lacking the warmth of another human.

If they smile, I can’t see it – their faces distant

behind masks and faceshields.

I think that their eyes betray concern.

I understand their words through scattered consonants,

but they do not speak the language of my ancestors.

I understand only

fragments

of the position that I am in.

 

I don’t want to die here.

Take me back to the beaches of Mexico, where the

gentle water tickles my toes

like my little girl running in the backyard

tripping over me with her small –

oh so small –

little feet.

Take me back to where her footprints are.

 

I don’t want to die here.

The last meal I had was something

tasteless and unrecognizable.  

A concession, not a feast.

Oh, how I miss the flavors from back home.

Here, nobody knows who I am beyond age and disease.

Here, nobody holds my hand except to draw my blood, and

it hurts each time.

 

I don’t want to die here.

Take me back to the beaches of Mexico, where

my wife has held my hand

on countless sunset walks.

She and I etched a heart into the sand,

made our mark of love onto this world like

we all hope to do.

The memory of her face lights up this dark room like

a full moon.

 

I don’t want to die here.

Let me die on the beaches of Mexico,

with the things that I have come to know,

with the things that have made my heart tender. 

 

But my lungs – they are heavy,

have they turned to concrete?

The weight of them makes me think that

I may not see tomorrow

without being placed on the strangers’ machines.

They tell me I must fall into a deep sleep,

and the machines will breathe life into me. 

 

But please, can I ask you –

If I must go into the darkness now, tell me –

will you, stranger, still be here when I wake up?