Crank (Crank 1)

a lovely memory floated,

ghostlike.

The receptionist told us Lince was in ICU

and asked if we were relatives.

I’d seen enough soap operas to know

to nod an affirmative answer.

Adam played along.

I’m her brother and this is …

I held my breath

… my fiancé.

The lady didn’t even blink behind her thick

gray lenses. She directed us to

the elevators. We got off

on the 7th floor. A nurse said

we’d missed visiting hours,

but since we were relatives

she’d let us poke in

through the door.

Intensive care is not a private place,

big windows allowed unobstructed

hallway-to-room views.

It was a sea of white.

Uniforms. Sheets. Curtains.

Floors and walls.

Why did that feel comforting?

Lince Floated

in that white water world,

Guinivere upon the River Styx,

tubes intruding wrists and nose,

liquid-filled lifelines.