Poetry/Creative non-fiction/fiction

Glass March 21, 2012

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 11:29 pm
Tags: , , , ,

The ICU allowed us to visit past

eight at night.  The entire wall facing

the nurses desk was glass.


When my uncle, bloated like a floating fish,

Skin yellow like harvested wheat, breath

heavy like wind squeezing through door

cracks spoke he stared at the TV.


I sliped both hands around his. I stroked his

skin with my thumb. He felt warm, like

sun passing through a window.


I don’t remember ever touching his

hands. Maybe as a child he held mine.

Led me across black tar roads to

Smith park or balanced me up loose

gravel hills during a hike in Victor

at grandpa’s cabin.


A nurse droped in to get blood.

He didn’t watch- “thank you”

He said.


He couldn’t eat or walk. He  barely

breathed, but he spoke to me. How he doesn’t

know how he ended up in The hospital. Reminded

me that my mom died in her forty’s as well, and said

his daughter isn’t mad at him anymore.


He kept talking about my mom.

I told him he has her eyes, her mouth

maybe even her hands.


He was tired. Tubes stuck out of his arms nose and neck.

He blinked at the TV where a man charms a snake. I

stood and kissed his cheek. I tell him I don’t say it as often

as I should, but that I love him. No one does, he whispered.




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