By Ruth Bacharach
PROMPT — Despite ...
I am staring at my leg.
In my head, I think, Move!
I will my body to move, and
nothing.
Once on my way to the mountains,
a boulder exploded on the road.
I can’t pull on my left sock.
I can’t pull on my right sock.
I am left
flat in bed waiting.
I have to call. Who will
open the window when my roommate soils herself?
I have to ask for a pillow,
for chairs, one generic pain pill.
Where is the call button?
I have to wait.
I have to wait for the nurse,
the charge nurse,
the med tech,
the shower lady.
When I shiver with urgency,
I have to wait
for
James from Kenya appears.
They have put me in a hospital gown.
Its huge bat wings flap in the night.
I say to him, My ass is hanging out.
It just bursts out of me.
He is shocked, and we both laugh.
I want to wipe my tears.
I wait six hours for a tissue.
I wait for night to pass.
Ruth Bacharach is a retired librarian. She writes from Lake Forest Park, WA.
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