ER Static
from the upcoming poetry collection The Maiden in the Tower
by Kate Gough
Freckle of pain in the eye,
pat the skin to pull blood,
the veins are spider bitten,
tamed by needles and tape,
pain pills, and a mocking moan
from behind the curtain.
Cotton gown bare, prod and poke
me until tears stick to my mask.
Florescent lights and bottles of urine,
I am not a human here. I shouldn’t vomit.
I am female, born in August
Been here over seven times in the last year.
TV scratch, scream, and morphine,
it’s a place you hope you’ll never be.
Broken, moan and sick, so many sorry’s,
Waiting is a pastime for the wounded, but goddamn
if you make her wait. She’ll pounce, and be turned back,
making us listen to the bitching, mutter it quieter, will you?
The air is tense, like the nerves in my back, surgery next,
come back a few days later, it’s burning.
Never gives you peace.
Emergency room static,
it’s a place you hope you’ll never be. For more than four
hours. Make that 9.
Seven days, and you’re out, and you are a shell.
Scooped out of a net, you cry, but they hush you.
You say sorry when you scream.
They look down at your wrist and ask you your birthday.
I am female, born in August.
