Word gets around at Edward Hospital
Word gets around
at Edward Hospital
Tracing my cross on Tony's brow,
I get to sing him
Jesus loves you,
tell him
God's ready to take you in his arms.
Outside, I smell the mock orange
whose blossoms are purses
of the smallest prince,
the bells of bees.
Old men whisper for tall daughters
out of hiding places
I could never understand.
Black bile
speckles their silvery lips.
When Holly squirms,
tugs at the IV drip,
her barefoot mother strokes her.
Oh you are wonderful at this, I say.
No sleep, she explains,
as she shrugs into tears.
A darling monster
half a face
softer than spoiled
windfall fruit.
I know
from such a mouth
no word can come out right.
The girl's gone blind.
Surgeons rebuild her spine
but how much does she--
Look--
the boy she loves next door--
he's come
to donate blood--
Fourteen years old and she sobs
for more cold mashed potatoes;
I steady her spoon
until Monika hovers with morphine
just in time.
What do they tell me
after midnight
breathless men
my father's age?
What do they so want to explain
they damn near drown?
I never hated
nobody, till my feet got so bad ...
Those Greek tomatoes, boy
they're out of this world ...
Way back along the creek,
I could find robins all year-round.
Snow never drifted there.
Like winter never came ...
When I got shot down in New Guinea
men in feathers asked two things:
What is it, male or female,
plus
what does it eat?
Asleep, the moon faces of incurables:
buddhas on steroids
Just before daybreak's
the best light
to slip a diamond from her finger.
Bangles and loops--
intimate gold when someone dies.
Treasures
still wet with her last oil,
I tuck them softly in a sack.
Never have I touched anyone so tenderly--
to give to the oldest son
or a daughter at dawn.
COPYRIGHT 2003 The Christian Century Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning