qarrtsiluni

by Karen Greenbaum-Maya

Monitors grind, and light from nowhere
comes soft as the sole of my aunt’s foot
somehow cleared of spur and callus

My aunt’s daughter strokes her hand, calls her name,
the blurred Rs of childhood returning
as she tries to override the bled-out brain

The nurse hisses don’t agitate the patient, chivies us out,
but my clinical thumbnail has already creased her sole
and got no answer. First-year, assessment of reflex:
if the toes don’t curl, well…

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After thinking hard about this theme, Karen Greenbaum-Maya has decided to be quiet. This is not at all like her.