She’s had her fill, she says, had her fill of arm poking, the blue gloved hands tap tap tapping to fatten her anorexic veins, draining off her blood like a moonshiner at his still, having to watch that precious red life of her drifting away, sending it off to who knows where to be spun and scanned and dissected until it doesn’t know itself anymore, those same hands injecting chemicals with strange screwy names and numbers, mixed cocktails like some exotic party favor but it’s a party she’s had her fill of, until it seems that those blue gloved hands claw toward her even in dreams, she’s had her fill of the arctic-laced rooms and the warming blankets, rooms to witness your breath even in the August of days, she’s had her fill of the wheelchairs and canes and shucking her clothes, having cold metal pressed against her marrow-shivered bones, had her fill of not being told the truth as if she were a child, all the Keep up the faiths and You’re so braves as she stumbles through the hospital halls full of waiting rooms to the waiting car and the waiting house and the vile sick to her stomach and the dizzy-flustered hours and the waiting to die, and just when the body starts to mend, starts to feel like jigging a hallelujah or two, having to do it all over again, when all she wants to do is settle on her porch swing and take pleasure in the turning seasons, maybe eat a fried bologna sandwich, have an RC Cola be the only frosty thing in the room, listen to a twang of Garth Brooks or Dolly Parton, and when the end does come she only wants to say that she’s had her fill of birds broadcasting their voices to the world, had her fill of breezes that loiter the day playing tag with leaves and the corn tassels in the neighbor’s garden, had her fill of Christmases and birthdays and Halloweens with kids parading up to her door like fairies and goblins, had her fill of grassy picnics and the sweet sing of rain against her tin roof, had her fill of creek dipping and rising to mountains in the blue mist, she wants to say she’d had her fill of miracles and kindness and love, had her fill of hugs and big slobbery dog-breath smooches and cats that lick your cheek and cozy your lap, but most of all she wants to say she’s had her fill of the moon, that silver sister who listens to her in the deep night, that quiet fire eating her pain, the nightly dazzle whispering to her heart that there’s nothing left to do but lay it all down, whispering to close her eyes and finally be full
