Standing in front of the mirror facing
my own wilted reflection I’m practicing
what to say to get you admitted to convince
the doctor both that you don’t want to live
and that your life is worth saving.
I make my list of evidence knowing that
it will probably not be enough, so in spite
of my exhaustion, my terror,
my extraordinary stage fright,
in spite of the fact that all I want
is to hold my child
until I know she is safe,
I work on my theatre.
Why is it that without hesitation,
we always go to the ER when our
bones splinter and break,
when there is strange or unusual pain,
or when our lungs clench like a fist?
We trust that we will be
mended or saved if we can be.
Today I bring you to the ER
hoping to convince someone
with the power to save you
that although your body is in tact
you are not you are breaking
you are filled with strange
and unusual pain
and we must if we are
in the business
of mending and saving,
unfurl the child
who has herself
become
a fist.
Image by Robin Pierre
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