A Struggle to Get Out
Not a ripple.
At home, the silver lake
was unmoved, flat and dark
as a grave waiting.
She fought for life knowing
there would be no return. This time,
in the hospital they drew blood
until she emptied, made her mute
with morphine and masks.
For five days we waited, rubbed oil
into her unmoving hands, sang parts
of prayers that were remembered.
Was time bruised with transcendence or blunder
we wondered as we opened the window
for the small bird banging against the glass.