transplant by linda simoni-wastila

when the specialist arrived in his shiny white jacket and latex the room stilled, a sterile still life colder than the air used to keep the machinery blipping and bleating pushing red cells through my arteries, gushing antibiotics like city hydrants when summer swelters hot from the pavement into my veins, the frigidity keeping engines cool from shorts that would gum wires and tubes and send electric shocks down lifelines to the system, my system, and when he shook his head, a brief motion, his mouth a hyphen, the air grew colder yet and heaved my heart into a pulsing mass of valves and vessels, one last gasp before it puttered into a puddle of tissue necrotic and grey, of hope gone south with the geese

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4 Comments

Filed under Linda Simoni-Wastila

4 responses to “transplant by linda simoni-wastila

  1. Wow, never thought about it so intensely before. And the pacing and structure mimic the heartbeat. Nice, Linda.

  2. Gone south with the geese was a great way to end this. I’ve always thought hospitals cold and impersonal.

  3. Oh dear, that’s one way to go! In one breath too! Thanks.

  4. Pingback: Week #49 – Cold front | 52|250 A Year of Flash

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