Lisa H Poem by Doug Lane

You introduced me
to Billy Collins
and now you're paralyzed
in a nursing home
somewhere in Salt Lake City.

I imagine sitting bedside
reading you
some Billy.
The wit, the illumination,
run into your veins
like a revivifying I.V.

And you once again
regain control
of your long limbs,
your lips, your tongue.
You leap from your bed
and sing a stirring aria
to all your lovers,
reminding them
what a gift
you were
to them all.

"My life is a song
witty and lyrical
as any poem.
It's a balm
to the ears and eyes
of all who knew me.

They, not I,
are to blame
if they were deaf and blind
to my beauty
and saw me
as someone
to rape."