SICK
The third person I am
watches you bring tea to the iron table
rescued from the dump
put the knobby kettle steaming hard
by my arm.
I notice the porcelain cup
thin red stripe like blood
circling the rim your mouth
you bend to me peppermint
what’s wrong tell me are you
dumb now stupid tell me where
you hurt? My mouth is stretched
over a rubber ball of fat. Everything
loud blurs your face inessential
dissolve you’re gone and you know what?
I know nothing about you who are
body solid in its misery stupid melting
at every boundary it touches the hot
iron kettle the whole world we share.
—from Rattle #15, Summer 2001
__________
Hilda Raz: “I am a writer, teacher, and editor who lives happily with the texts and books of my students, imaginary and real friends, and family. I’m interested in what happens.” (web)
