December 26, 2007

Fight without Fists
     for my sister in 2000

I sit vigilant as you lie pale and tiny
in the hospital sheets,
my hand at rest on your burning brow,
an ice chip to your lips,
a rub of your feet,
and, as you sleep, I begin to write
fixed on metaphors in calming cloaks,
friendly arms,
a printed sky, a papery sea

wanting to relieve you for the hour, too,
your own lighted shores
nourishing from the inside first,
laying you on your side in the sweet sand
of narcotic drift, spent
until the stronger you
may return to home and bed,

hug the chair
that sits farthest from the door.

—Kathleen Adcock
previously appeared in Wild Onions

Posted by dwaber at December 26, 2007 04:36 PM