In the ER at 1 AM
by Mary Hanarhan
published in Sugar House Review, Issue 18
You die next to the man
holding a dish towel
over his bloody eye,
and you, my first born,
found floating
in the toilet. I fish you out
with a plastic cuparhan
and carry
you to the triage desk. Your tiny
lima bean body
translucent, perfect.
The harsh
light penetrating
paper thin skin
veins laced
right beneath
the surface.
Little bud arms
and legs tucked in tight.
The nurse looks pissed
when I ask
for something
more sacred
to bury you in
and hands
me a container.
I don’t remember if I said
good-bye
only that they took
you and they never gave you back.
