Poem 314 ± April 13, 2016

Morgan Downie
Two Poems


it slicks the floor
dark as coffee
dense as tar
the dulled red
of dimmed fire
the stilled stink
of blood unnatural
he is bathed in it
an unrippled vessel
in its glaze
hair darkened
eye sockets pooled
with his body’s
rejected iron
somewhere a nurse
is crying

we thicken the air
with hypochlorite
slake the floor
with bloodied mops
send the man
to his rest
his ears filled
with our rough jokes
and the assurance
that at least
it was quick
and not the worst
any of us
had seen

at the end

it’s so nice
to have a man here
and in that one sentence
you tell me

of all those nights
when you were
who you were

and of all
that i could be
if only i was
with you

away from
your monitored
and failing

that spendthrift
organ you shared
without a care
with so many

i take
your hand
in my hands
and we pretend

that you
are still healthy
and i
am still human

MoMorgan Downiergan Downie is a visual artist who also writes short stories and poetry. He is a keen collaborationist and cross disciplinary practitioner and this underpins many of the themes of translocation in his practice. His published work includes stone and sea and distances, a Romanian- English photopoetry collection. He works in healthcare.