Morphine Stream
In response to Laura Kasischke’s “Milk Tree”
Steady stream
into the unconscious throat
rattling death’s scarring call in denial to the killing poison
being poured
in hopes that he will cease and let go. Measured
morphine sucked into a plastic syringe, and a whimpering
cry escaping through the masquerading eyes delivering. The moaning my uncle
made while trying to stay conscious, alive. That, made
manifest. Shortened
suffering
and prolonged relief: the hopes. His
lung, the
origin, metastasizingly
feasting, eating
mutation. Too quickly
fading into oblivion
the one who should have lived.
Desolate winter outside setting the scene:
While
sitting there watching him fade, Please,
just die already. Please.
His cancerous lung, like
the snow numbing our entire livelihood.