Poetry |

“Young Widowhood (ending in the ICU)” & “Monitors”

Young Widowhood (ending in the ICU)

 

 

You’ve learned to stitch hems around the borders

of your grief to stop the threads

 

from running wild, to burn the edges

like a flame to a ribbon                   to keep

 

the fray at bay. Your usual grief is thick, pervasive, oozing

over everything, but tonight it’s erratic, an itchy

 

tag that scrapes your waist and some days you think of him

less — an oxymoron of guilt

 

and relief — I want to lead you out

of the space where you are trapped between

 

those afternoons when L was still alive and now,

so grateful when you say last week was a good week:

 

the term widow less a wall and more a window you might open

and tumble through. Maybe it would help if you left

 

the house, something about                         holding still

in places where he also held you

 

seems unfathomable                         in the immediate aftermath

it was the second question people asked

 

Will she stay in the house?          after the whispered

What happened?                how I loathed their lowered voices, the hush

 

around addiction. I want to scream

his truth, loud like a banshee, herald his death

 

with a high-pitched keen, make it louder than the vital alarms that blared

in the moments after he died until you snapped

                  Can someone please fucking turn those off?

                              

I couldn’t help it. I smiled, so happy

to glimpse that strong bitch I knew you’d need to be.

 

 

◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     ◆

 

 

Monitors

 

 

unfamiliar           with the way

 

a ventilator’s fake breath can shake

 

a loose body       when I first saw him

 

from the threshold

 

of the ICU’s door

 

I thought            he’s nodding, for some reason, he’s nodding, Yes

 

*

 

we could not stop watching

 

the screen’s numbers —

 

blood pressure, body temperature, pulse —

 

and never have I ever understood

 

the definition of a word so clearly

 

vital                      vitals                    absolutely necessary

 

telepathically I willed an uptick

 

from a bedside chair                      whispered as if from a movie

 

script, Come on, L. Wake up and we can fight again.       I tilted my neck up

 

to the blue digits               like one might do

 

to watch

 

an eclipse            a meteor shower             a comet

 

some unfamiliar light’s manifestation                                     some fiery

 

chunk of rock                  flaming its way through

 

the ever-expanding universe

 

                                                unaware of why it’s falling          or where and how and

 

what it will destroy when it lands

Contributor
Bridget Bell

Bridget Bell is a poet, educator, proofreader, and bartender. She teaches composition and literature at Durham Technical Community College, proofreads manuscripts for Four Way Books, and pours pints at Ponysaurus Brewery. Her debut poetry collection is All That We Ask of You Is to Always Be Happy, (CavanKerry Press, February 2025).

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