My turn at death watch

My Turn at Death Watch



Arms and legs akimbo litter the forest floor of sheets.
Frost rime’d leaf skin crawls blue snakes up into pink and white pajamas.
Beached fish mouth gapes black as a bat cave, sucking into nowhere.
I don’t see her, I can’t find her.
I furrow my brow, squint my eyes in search of her.

Ah, there in the furrow under her cheek,
where forceps left a permanent clue that she was tired.
There, her elfin ear, remembered framed in bleached white hair
festooned with feather earrings, there she is.

Staccato she focuses, a finger in repose, a fluttering eye leaks blue.
Her shoulder, shaken, presents her breasts more plump for a moment.
Her feet, so familiar, as I slipped the same ones into sandals this morning.
I am relieved, she is still there, I can see her.