Samantha Stewart
there is the injury and the injury and the injury
well, I fell off a horse and he ran over my chest
I held myself, the earth held me and we all waited
to see how bad it was, still and waiting
well, I fell off a horse and he ran over my chest
He ran then stopped to watch this passenger come loose
to see how bad it was, still and waiting
for life to flash before her eyes or take the next sip
He ran then stopped to watch this passenger come loose
to shake the stomp from his hoof, to pull it back into shining muscles
for life to flash before her eyes or take the next sip
absorbing how it feels to crush and be crushed
to shake the stomp from his hoof, to pull it back into shining muscles
before I was taken away to the hospital in a small, foreign ambulance
absorbing how it feels to crush and be crushed
I held my ribs, my cage, my breath and spit blood to keep them hurrying
before I was taken away to the hospital in a small, foreign ambulance
I looked up to see my children whisked away and made myself think
I held my ribs, my cage, my breath and spit blood to keep them hurrying
because I could think I could let them go without—
I looked up to see my children whisked away and made myself think
from head to toe of function, survival and concrete things
because I could think I could let them go without
dying to have the grass and insects swept from my scalp
my head to toe, thinking of function, survival and concrete things
but it was more than 24 hours before I let them peel my arm from my chest
dying to have the grass and insects swept from my scalp
I let them bathe me as in the bible long before tears
but it was more than 24 hours before I let them peel my arm from my chest
I felt myself sessile, planted there, wondering what might pass through
I let them bathe me as in the bible long before tears
dress me in the overwashed pinks and blues of the hospital dwellers
I felt myself sessile, planted there, wondering what might pass through
sips of warm drink, xray machines a swell of medicine then nausea
dressed in the overwashed pinks and blues of the hospital dwellers
we waited together for sensation and morning and news
sips of warm drink, xray machines a swell of medicine then nausea
I was a white woman in a central american hospital
as we waited together for sensation and morning and news
my restlessness and questions and fear grew foreign in that space
I was a white woman in a central american hospital
calls from home were alarmed, and after my morning bath
my restlessness and questions and fear grew foreign in that space
the woman in the next bed hushed me because the nurses were busy
calls from home were alarmed, but it was my morning bath
and I was growing accustomed to the changing light
and the woman in the next bed hushing me because the nurses were busy
I was plugged to a wall but could sit up and run 12-foot errands
and I was growing accustomed to the changing light
I’d go for water or to charge a cell phone to tap on the nurses window
I was plugged to a wall but could sit up and run 12-foot errands
for the woman beside me laying flat or the man across who is vomiting
I go for water and charge a cell phone and tap on the nurses window
but mostly I am waiting for el Señor who is there when the doctors are not
for the woman beside me laying flat or the man across who is vomiting
Who is no longer there in the morning, dying in the fluorescent night
no longer waiting for el Señor who was there when the doctors were not
I am counting my neighbors and never know when they disappear
Who is no longer there in the morning, dying in the fluorescent night
or gone home with their waiting families
I am counting my neighbors and never know when they disappear
under the gazing picture En el Confio how to say goodbye in my poor spanish
gone home with their waiting families
and how will I peel off my pinks and blues and return to mine
under the gazing picture En el Confio how to say goodbye in my poor spanish
I cannot remember how to fill a day, a life with movement and urgency
and I am surprised by how peeling off my pinks and blues to return to mine
feels like a shock and betrayal of our rhythm
I cannot remember how to fill a day, a life with movement and urgency
and I wonder at the bag of belongings tucked into a metal drawer
the shock and betrayal of our rhythm
it is to get up and leave, to touch fresh air and sun
and I wonder at the bag of belongings tucked into a metal drawer
and I hold myself, the earth holds me and I wait
to get up to leave, to touch fresh air and sun
there is the injury and the injury and the injury