I lean on the cold table.
Black plastic
Bordered in stainless.
A yellow pen hanging
By a thick white string.
Some water spilled
Watering the lilacs.
A clear plastic
Tube down her throat, no water
Except that dripping
Into her arm.
The pad on which
She wrote in little gasps, how
She wanted the air turned up,
How she felt about warm things.
 
 


In Pudding 13, 1987.