when the doctor came,the room stilled, a sterile still life colder than the air used to keep the machinery bleating and pushing blood through my arteries, the frigidity
keeping engines cool from shorts that would gum wires and tubes and send electric shocks down lifelines to the system, my system, and when he shook his head, a brief motion, the air grew colder yet and heaved my heart into a pulsing mass of valves and vessels, one last gasp before it puttered into a puddle of tissue, of hope gone south
***
Inspired by the 52-250 Flash A Year theme: cold front. A prose poem as we ease into the home stretch of NaPoWriMo. Peace...
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the final words of reflection on life I imagine nearly always coagulate around the immediate situation of the body and with your breathless, panting prose with no end until the very END itself, you capture this nicely.
ReplyDeletemarc nash
What Marc said. :) This leaves me so speechless my mouth is hanging open. Outstanding work Linda!
ReplyDeleteLike Marc and Deanna said... bravo, Linda!
ReplyDeleteA narrative straining against its own sterile scenery. One can sense the struggle.
ReplyDelete"his mouth a hyphen"
ReplyDeleteThis phrase alone says a multitude.
It's all one sentence! Pretty good.
ReplyDeleteSuch sublime imagery. Remarkable.
ReplyDeleteAdam B @revhappiness
As I read this I felt the discomfort, the unease, the torment of being that sick. Excellent imagery.
ReplyDeleteJai
Whew! I could hardly wait to get a breath of air by the time I finished reading your piece! What a roller-coaster ride!
ReplyDelete