By Kate HammerichNovember 10, 2012After the same nurses keep coming
with full syringes, night after night,
they ask their questions: Who
is on the phone? Why am I alone?
Some days are a compromise, some
teach you how to give up
gracefully,
in sickening pain, unrelieved,
and they call Robin even though
it’s the night shift, to tell me I cannot eat yet,
nor die, nor sleep,
just a sleepy scientist rubbing his thumb
against the back of my hand,
murmuring, you must stand up,
against the sideways world,
then, shhh, as he lifts me,
fragile and burning,
surprising a giggle
musically alive,
as he carries me
into the dark
where the machines hum
and rock me like waves
against the restless
shore.