by Diana Morley.
what two weeks in a hospital bed was like—
my mouth so dry I’m careful—
I fear losing tongue cells on opening
doc explains, my intestine dry as a Lowe’s
outdoor plant—adding too much water
at first could simply drown it
scooping last bit of ice from a paper cup
with a plastic spoon’s like trying to snag a toy
from a machine with a mechanical claw—
I drop it down my gown and grasp it fast
from the staples zipping up my middrift
can’t help thinking, thank god we have skin
to cover up our insides
like my husband near the end, I often
find my hands on my forehead, brushing across,
parting ways above my nose, over my eyes
—as if hoping for a new scene each time
sitting up feels good for my belly
lying down feels good for my back—
it’s a slow see-saw every fifteen minutes
when the drip bag empties, the machine
begins repeating its bee-dee-pee-dee-dee
bee-dee-pee-dee-dee, then moves into a trot
I feel for the guy next door emitting moan-hoots
but at least he gets three food trays a day
while I’m on my ninth without food,
a tube from nose to stomach interfering
my eyes closed for sleep reveal
purple plasma angels floating about
having one different nurse after another
feels like being in a trapeze act
without hands making connections
‘back in a few minutes’ is code for
back in a half hour—but saying
‘I was given a laxative’ gets a nurse
bedside within two minutes
my Romanian nurse and I share
stories about our daughters
—we agree it would be great
if we just happened to meet
in a park, by chance
lying awake in a dark room at night
seems like being in a Hopper painting
hall light glaring along the silent floor, but for
an occasional woman with an armful of towels
striding by, leaving greater silence behind
a Vietnam vet silhoetted against hall light
shares why he became a nurse—
in honor of his father who served, then
literally froze to death in a VA hospital
but once I was able to walk through the hallway
dragging my I.V. on wheels, I got a great tip
from under a security guard’s massive mustache:
You won’t get as wet walking in the rain
as you will running—
I’ll try to remember that.