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Show Blue Run/17 of myself, and somebody sang holy infant so tender and mild There's this blank place where everything's already happened, where your dreams are the dreams of grieving people, the way the bereaved feel guilty. They keep driving past the house where the dead person once lived, slowing down to look through the windows or stopping to take a clipping from the forsythia bush. Remembering Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter, how the cars drive by outside, how you can feel people looking in and thinking about you. I can feel his eyes looking through the window, taking a branch from my forsythia, feeling me there, saying he's sorry, saying I'm his baby, saying he loves me, saying forgive me. Then I woke up. "Where's my baby?" "Your boy," I was told, and it was a jolt because I didn't know what came next. Dwarf or legless-anything's possible. "He's being brought to you by nurse Cindy. Don't eat solids for a while. Not til the meds wear off. There will be considerable pain. Think of it as good hurt-all your nerves functioning Am I saying too much?" "Where's my baby?" "You'll love you're child in time." The woman's green eyes were grew on me through thick glasses. "I want my baby." "There could be a desire to hurt the child," she said. "This is normal Pay attention to your moods, write them down, keep a record." My body didn't feel like my body at all. Nothing, just a dull thereness, and I remembered how Daddy'd get phantom charley horses in his missing leg after the accident, how he'd cry and get crazy we'd have to massage just the right spot on his stump. |