Through a Hollow Tube
Jan Jahner
She carries forward the bundle like a giant fish
vacant eyes above wood-smoked plaid bathrobe
hook me as we unwrap his blue stillness
words swim upstream,
I am swallowed by a wave, standing by admissions, heading out to sea.
I left mine on the rug by her sister, curled in cartoons.
Room Four has a gurney and a chair
Stained, nail-bitten fingers slide through silky dark hair
She starts again, how the cabin was cold, how she wrapped him up tight
how he should be hungry, mine holds her bottle now.
One year out from nursing school in Adrenaline Heights
with minimal scales, I sink to the ocean bottom
dark in boulders and rust.
She starts again, how the cabin was cold, how she wrapped him up tight
the coroner’s number is taped by the phone, my knees ache from
crouching
She starts again, how the cabin was cold, how…
there’s commotion in the hallway
She starts again, how the cabin was cold
My words a hollow tube to the surface, I have to keep breathing
The ER’s filling up.
About the author:
Navigating emergency, hospice and palliative-care nursing for the last twenty-seven years has provided Jan Jahner with rich » Continue Reading.
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