What It's Worth

Crisp white emptiness
The bedding tucked in
Proficient, no wrinkles
Sanitized perfectionism
Only found in hospitals

You are no longer here

Weeks I spent in the waiting room
Trying to visit
But each time was told the same thing
"Only immediate family allowed"
As if the one you spent the last twenty years with
Wasn't immediate enough

Your parents were allowed in
It didn't matter that they had kicked you out
You had only been sixteen at the time
Disowned for admitting same-sex attractions
They never bothered to call
With no desire to ask if things were going well
Yet all their neglect was cleaned off the slate
When they arrived at the hospital
Immediate family, only your family by chance
Not by actually being there

I didn't get to say goodbye

Everything would have been different
If we had been married
A simple piece of paper
Was all it would have taken
But laws were enacted
To deny same-sex couples like us
The option

Just a damn piece of paper

I don't know if you can hear me
The funeral will be tomorrow
But your parents have already let it be known
That my presence is unwelcome
So for what it is worth
Here I stand
In this vacant hospital room
Just for the chance to say

Goodbye my love