Andrea's poem
the day after
8-25-99

Andrea slipped.
Her skull cracked.
Pediatric Intensive Care Unit,
P - Q, they call it,
or P - I - C - U.
All of us around the bed.
Andrea's life in a coma.
Aunt Iris orders a poem.
Do you want me to write it right here?
right now?
today? 
a poem on demand? 
Next day:
the coffee pot slipped.
I'd had it for years.
I stood still
for the longest time,
barely breathing,
with the glass at my feet.