6 12 24
Until Much Later
By Marianne Tefft

I did not understand his tone until much later
When I held for the doctor
And my old friend now Prime Minister
Of that sun-burst Rock came on the line
To reply Yes she is
When I asked Is she alive
It was only after I flew through the night
South and south and backtracked north
To hear the surgeon as he shared his phone
This is a picture of brain death
But your daughter is perfect
And the minutes turned to hours
Hours to days and months
I dared to exhale sometimes
And began to trust their words a little
Slowly slowly released the notion
That their Perfect might mean
You can crowd-source
A hundred-thousand-dollar wheelchair
But instead meant
Count your blessings
I watched them exhale too
The neurosurgeon and his lieutenants
With puffed cheeks and blinking eyes
Stoic lips that swallowed words like
This is why we went to medical school
We’ll do what we can
It was only after they heard me say
But I knew her as a teenager
These non-stop side-eyes
Sotto-voce tchups
And bilingual blue language
This is amateur hour
When they told me
Expect disorganization
Hour by hour we all began
To sigh with relief and satisfaction
And smile our greatest admiration
For her vigorous fighting spirit
I did not realize until much later
That I still have forgotten to cry