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Poems
Six Sutures
She did not slice the bandage snugged about the numb toe but tickled an end open to begin the unwinding. She unwound the gauze slowly as she turned her head to see where the cloth stuck to itself and how to cut it.
Vinegar and Good Wood
You often speak to my brother from the bottle of apple-cider vinegar fermented for years but saved just in case in the back of his spice cabinet. You can tell him how to make your banana bread and your hamburger gravy till they are no longer yours, being generally better.
Amor Fati
Fortunate to have a heavy coat and camp pants in the nightlong cold, we find you face down in a field rewarming like a lizard near dead of an overdose— leaves of grass imprinted on your body catatonic, eyes swollen from allergens. All you can do is drool, mutter, hallucinate and punch the sky.
We Are Here
We are here. At the foot of your bed, I warm your limp feet in my hands. A daughter cleans your mouth, a thirsty anemone. Your only action is its eager suckle of the sponge. My sister’s offering is careful, sparse— your retiring body can take little but air.
Alive
40 years ago the night before Halloween they let me into the frigid room where they were keeping you deeply sedated, your skin blue and clammy, barely alive after having trouble bringing you back, with a wicked incision stitched from collarbone to near navel
Quilted
Vit il I go. I loved quilts until I became one.
Neighbor
I first notice the fog, unexpected on the inside of a windshield, a question mark along the run-on sentence of parked cars, and, with a snap, you are there, wrapped in a bag in the back seat with parking patrol on the prowl, but they’re not so keen, blindly driving by in a kind ignorance, and I don’t see you either, only your warm breath caught at the glass, and all I have are commas,
Doctor Becomes Patient
The diagnosis is here I knew it was coming But did not think it would arrive this soon “You’re very young to have it” the doctor said My bones brittle, already At age 50 I feel fragile
Chronic Illness
He’s sick again. It’s a major production getting him to the doctor’s office. Dressing a paraplegic, loading the wheelchair, strapping it down in the van. Leaving an hour early, just in case. Always prepared, I take along a packed bag, half for him, half for me. Because you just never know.