PAD 12

So we decided to --

in that bleak moment,
when the atmosphere
had the pressure of the
ocean floor,
and the linoleum
beneath my feet was jello,
and each breath,
so shallow, so strained,
contained only disinfectant
and blood,
when the question asked
rumbled under some baby's cry,
and I was
cocooned in psychic shrink wrap
to keep the broken pieces
together --

donate
whatever could be used.

(Knives and once tender flesh
were all I could see.)
And I laid my head on his chest,
beginning the good-bye
to the heart that could not be used.

I've wondered since if
they see differently now,
those who received
his hazel eyes.

If the stillness of an icy dawn
and a small fire draw them.
If the ghosts of Confederates,
neighbors, comrades in arms,
stir them.
If there is beauty and ugliness
in everything,
but neither matters.
If everything has value
and can be used.
If the connection between
everything and everyone
is so clear,
so priceless,
and still a burden.

(If they would see me
as he once did.)
If they could let me see,
as he once did.


I tried to write about anything but this for the prompt "so we decided to," but this insisted on coming out. I'm very grateful now I bought that wine last night, but I'm shaking so, if I can get the bottle open at all, I'll need a sturdy cup, not a delicate glass.