I Come Again

I come again into the light of your dying.

Your simple limbs washed clean as a spoon.

Mouth open, a drained hole, a wild calling, with no sound.

I stand beside the stain on the already stained carpet, where you fell free of your steel wheels.

Your horses tried to die, the doctors put you back

Humpty Dumpty style.

We children, like incubated chicks, in the kitchen,

Clustered, to discuss the problem of loving you.

Susan Bazett