A broken tulip

He stands in blue scrubs. White flecks
the foreground, the background
as if someone breathed water droplets
all over the camera lens.
I had forgotten yesterday’s
snow.

Doctor on the frontlines, I read. What is it really like? it asks.
One hand in one pocket, he says,
We have to lean in close
to attach the respirators
we have to get so close to be
exactly where no one wants to be.

Even the photographer stands six feet and a thousand snowflakes away.
Leaning in “so close”, I imagine, is like
leaning into the sky until
water-snow-droplet breath clouds
everything. Why does it make me cry?
To come close is the deadliest thing but the only
cure.

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