Motionless Debris

• Poetry
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• December 7th

A speck of red,
Blood blossoms brightly
A lady-bird upon a leaf
Veins spread and running

I hear the wind in the trees again
Singing willows weeping
Sturdy oaks rustling

Antiseptic reeks and pushes
up my nose, invading
Oh God, I hate the cold of damp skin
and starched sheets
As I’m rolled over, rolled over
A log drifting, in motionless debris

Author’s note:
If you’ve ever been a patient in ICU, you might recognize some of what’s expressed  in this poem.