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Tag Archives: Victoria Dym
She holds my hand in the pulse pose, forces me to read poetry to her. She checks my breathing, stethoscope cold on my back like the barrel of a pistol— she confesses that if she had not become a physician, … Continue reading
Her gown comes undone from the back, her shoulder bare, drooping breasts at 64, hair unwashed since Tuesday. She seems happy in the hospital, propped up, chatty. She talks about hospital life, her dogs and cigarettes. She gets shaky then, … Continue reading
You know how September can be— a wide-eyed insect, well-veined jar fly, spittlebug, locust. Eaten chocolate-covered or in a pie with cream and rhubarb, stir-fried, breaded. It’s the cicada— his song so loud it makes the Chinese Emperor in me … Continue reading
On the Occasion of Taking Four Ibuprofens at the Water Fountain near the Public Men’s Rest Room at Ross Park Mall, Christmas Eve
after Stacey Waite Santa in full costume, white mane and beard walks towards me, and from my hunched over position, through the arcing drip— a six-year-old, eyes wide, clutches his father’s hand, exclaims: Dad, Dad, can we go pee with … Continue reading