Zebra

Your kind, dark eyes crinkled at the corners
when I entered your room to ask more questions
about your weight loss, your dry cough.
But you wanted to talk about business school,
how happy you were to leave the southern heat,
how lonely you were without visitors,
except for me. I was just a medical student,
attempting to solve your puzzle. Your slight frame
propped with pillows, mine with counterfeit
confidence. My mentor, upset I ordered
an HIV test, told me to stop looking for zebras.
But you were one. Grazing in a field
of horses, your beautiful stripes
so apparent, if we’d only been able to see.

Published in The Louisville Review No. 97 Fall 2025