Member Poem

Dripping into Unconscious
 
She slips into the coma unannounced;
her fingers still wet from dipping into the cold
water as she lays beside the marble bathtub.
 
He finds her, with a floral bathrobe wrapped
around her pale skin. He removes her hand
from the draining water—drip, drip, drip
onto the black-and-white tiles.
 
Their four-year-old son stands at the door,
staring at his mother’s closed eyes, her
firm lips, her tilted head as she falls further away.
 
The son clings to his teddy bear as the paramedics
arrive at the apartment. They lift her onto a gurney
and shuffle her away toward the vehicle with
bright red and blue blinking lights.
 
He moans for her to speak. The man grabs
onto his shoulders and pulls him away from her.
The boy continues to moan softly—urgently.
 
Her body is placed in a casket three weeks later;
the man and son watch as it lowers beneath the grass.
The boy marches forward and raises his hand,
and tucks the teddy bear into the corner for her to take.