marian in the big round refrigerator in the clouds
her eyes finally open
the rows of staples in her peach fuzz brain
describing a missing piece of pie
i tell marian
that all the exercising
she’s done with her brain —
listening to three radios at one time
while reading five books —
has made her brain fit,
ready for more calisthenics
when it heals.
her long cool brown fingers
open & close on the bed sheet.
i cover her hand with mine.
here in the refrigerator of broken bodies
i’m remembering all the nights quickly glimpsing
marian’s whole head her soft
voice running on as i climb the stairs
to bed not knowing
how much i loved her
until now,
never listening
so carefully
for just one word
wendy shaffer
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