for Naomi.A Poem by h d e rushinI am the face down person you saw on the way to the brown lounge, where the coffee and the Styrofoam cups sat open, wedged between People magazines of aging starlets. Yes I was that one you turned your head quickly not to notice my white gown riding up my thigh, my wristband unintelligible. I was like you, in love once, then I remembered how it was a kind of emergency. A sort of chemo, love was. Whoever said that love would cure you hadn't hurled themselves against the campus floor. That's it! Love is a sweeter radiation. You lie still as can be as not to harm the surrounding tissue, and just your heart is targeted. And the beams hurl, hurl themselves at you until you believe that light can make you better, as the debris of you spills off and is caught in bags that are changed every hour. In the other room an Asian with small hands who you think is Jesus by the way she says "it's time" calls you by your last name. There are things that burst under your tongue. Sublingual things, like grapes or vomit lozenges, and the single rose your cousin left for you has gone on, laying face down as you might, always. © 2015 h d e rushinReviews
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Added on October 21, 2015Last Updated on October 24, 2015 Author
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