Wednesday, March 17, 2010
We were there five hours. She ate her crackers and cheese. I ate her baby carrots and apple slices. Before her first nap, I spooned five bites of pudding into her mouth. Then I begged coffee from a yawning nurse.... Where was I living when I died? she asked somewhere beside the old clothesline I’d resurrected in her mind — 1965, our sheets baking beneath a harsh blue sky.... Is Mother still alive? bright petals falling from my hand, one for her father, one for mine, one for each dead sister.... By the time transport arrived, she was covered by flowers.... Two strong men, suitably kind. A warm blanket from the dispensary. Things are going to be fine, Mom, just fine. Good-bye? Across how many years? How many acres of cold, blind linoleum? They turned at the corridor. She went home. I was alone again.
“Emergency Room” added to Poems, Slightly Used.
In the Forum: tossed out through the saloon doors.