Perhaps it was the chowder tonight
that made you say on the phone, that
a cow was tied to your hospital bed.
I’m used to the upside down of your words
but couldn’t form an answer, & the
answer didn’t need to be
the end of all the questions. We didn’t
need to know if it was the chowder
or the cow, only that the
trees tapped the windows as slippery
dancers outside your room, & where
I was, in the gray of an
empty fireplace & a green
chair where you used to be,
I want to be there to hold
your hand & talk about the cow.
I want to know what you saw,
that kept the metal bedrails from
enclosing you, the merciless grey
linoleum room with the sounds
of nurses’ soft shoes sift down
the hall engulfing you. Perhaps
it was the chowder, & I want to
taste it with you & talk
about that cow, her intelligent
eyes, tawny skin, & why she is
standing right there for you to touch.
Lynn Finger is a trauma therapist who writes poetry, and her writings have appeared in 8Poems, Perhappened, Wrongdoing Magazine, Book of Matches, Fairy Piece, Drunk Monkeys, Corporeal Lit and is forthcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic. Lynn also is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group, "Free Time," that mentors writers in prison. Follow Lynn on Twitter @sweetfirefly2.