put out your hands.
you want to get
every room in the hospital –
every doorway – leaves itself
there is still skin and blood
and sinew underneath.
the heart monitor still beeps
its dirty promise.
we are surfing the blood, now
don’t get lost.
what a rush.
there is a limit to what the human mind can
wipe away, there is a
terminal velocity to the heart that’s crashing
through these sheets,
its sound coursing all the way down –
we stay alive from the toes up, it seems. blue
toes are a bad sign,
you’ve never checked,
only felt the blank in the air as it stilled.
that was that and it didn’t even disturb the sheets.
earlier today, the sky wrung itself out.
from the window, the branch and its finches are precise.
we are surfing the hall now,
the thin breeze hits like a door to its own escape and
are still here.
the sky is blameless, its palms are empty
by the white of the air
H. Lee Coakley (they/she) is a Queer, Non-Binary poet & nutritional healer currently based in Brooklyn, NY. They hold a BA from New York University & an MSPH from Johns Hopkins University. Their work has been featured in Lavender Review, Red Eft Review, Utterance, The Voices Project & The Mad Farmer Reading Series.