Hospital Room with a View
My blood, my broth
my bones, my bullet
pocked blessings container
spins a slow arc
from sunset towards dark.
Limbs collapse
like the mold
covered camp chair
we left on the cliffside.
Mom’s brain went first.
My knees & fingers are going.
I don’t know who’s luckier.
5 thoughts on "Hospital Room with a View"
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That closing hits hard. And all the ‘b’ words at the beginning was a great way to open the piece.
Absolutely.
I’m struck by the middle stanza, too–
The camping chair that was left behind, taken by mold.
What an amazing piece.
Heartbreaking.
I agree!
🕯️🥺 felt
I like the dry “with a View”