Seated on My Hospital Bed

My seventh-floor window vibrates,
          the room throbs in crescendo
as a rescue helicopter stitches
          a curved seam across the sky
bound for Children’s Hospital.
          Balanced like a dragonfly
it settles on the roof.
          As the blades stretch to slow,
curled jumpsuits spring free,
          deliver a cot, coax it up
to stand on baby deer legs,
          urge it toward a door.
My mind draws in close,
          imagining the injured child
or fevered unconscious body,
          the nearby ashen parents.
I blink. My self-pity has vanished.