The Breathing Of The Dead Ear - Poem by Matthews Welschire
Twisted knots within holding hands.
What is this instant form?
Smile away Elizabeth. Do not seem happy here!
Not after you explained the ribbon and ring -
Hardened carbon that sixty-two years prior
knew only you.
At this moment you hold younger hands as
systems shut down. Organs find white flags.
Younger hands open doors: code blue halls,
white-coated member mess hall: dark.
Turn my back, nesting and ill,
eyes stone bruised.
Smock and gurney and sutured whole.
The crumbs: once delicate marrow
Now ten fingers
singed in pumice, in dust
on castle wall.
This is the color of water,
the breathing of the dead ear.
I am done.
Float dust to Cerberus.
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