A Study in Canvas

mannequin in a hospital prompt

Eyes empty even as you tell of pain

In the language of cloth and bust.

To stand, still, amongst the rush and bustle of the lobby

Is to understand that you have time to explain your being:

Speak with your 32’ waist, your high cheekbones, the maroon stain on the small

Of your back.

What bones to mend, what flesh to stitch, what soul to comfort with

Charts showing progress and promises?

To spend an hour tracing the arch of your cold throat with the tip

Of a finger and listen to the faraway nadir of a flatline.