terry had a heart attack and he's
lying in a coma and i can't do
anything about it cuz he's in portland
and i'm here
we talked on the phone on sunday
first time in months -- bragging a mile a minute
he was stoked about suing the mouse,
more about winning though he
wasn't supposed to talk about it,
most to tell me he was getting married,
even though he knew his big mouthed
brother had already told me
and i am sitting here, flipping through
all my old phone bills looking at the
three minutes here and the five minutes
thanking god for the forty five minutes
three days ago.
the word spreads like wildfire through
we practice the phrases and rattle them off
with clinical detachment:
no brain activity. no kidney function. iabp.
(to keep the heart pumping)
we find a strange solace in this litany of
failures, a medical plainsong rings through
our circle -- speaking the names, gaining
power over unknowns
august twenty second:
you are dead.
i am not pregnant.
brought to you by the letter k, katrina grace craig © 1997-2002