Dead at Last
Dead at last! Dead at last!
Now I can see the world as it is
floating
indifferent
like the gull from the hospital window
white with black wingtips
feeling the currents of air
guiding its flight. Perfectly free
from compassion for me.
Nirvana
I can’t find the can opener
and then I do.
The electrician shows me my name on his forearm
“Linda” in pink magic marker
which is how he remembers
whoever’s house he’s in. Once again
there’s trouble getting on a website;
and a friend’s voice on voicemail isn’t . . .
Subscriber Access Required
This article is available to paid subscribers with digital access.
- Already a subscriber with digital access? Log in here to read the full article.
- Not yet subscribed? Subscribe now for full digital access to all articles and downloadable PDFs.
- Prefer a one-time purchase? Click the “Purchase PDF” button above.
- Institutional user? Recommend LIBER to your institution's library for unlimited access.
