It was my first night at
the hospital. This body,
covered with white--an auto
accident--laid on a cart,
pressed against one wall,
a yellow bucket on the floor
below. What was once inside
was now outside: a dark
red cauliflower, bruised black
in patches, some gravel
mixed in. "He went, head-
first, through the windshield."
I stood, staring, entranced
by the recognition, heard
somebody ask: "Can you
handle this?" Secure
on the outside, I answered
yes, wheeled body and bucket
down to the morgue. Inside,
I was flying, hearing
bones and glass crack, a
darkening thought saying:
take me back, take me back.
|