Thursday, August 19, 2010

Poetry revision time: Banshee


She dabs his hot form
with damp cloths, smooths
tremors from his limbs.
I see two faces: bliss
amid the scale hide
and eyes that sing.
Zinc balms swathe blisters:
she wraps him in swaddle;
snow over a new-sown grave.
My lungs rack at
each breath. She reeks
of rose and soaps.
Wires weave monitors to skin
and graphs dance on screens;
Her claw rests on his brow.
Cool, she is; calm.
I am at her mercy
and all is good.
She slips away and a machine
wails an escape: his crisp
flesh shackle falls still.

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