Edvard Munch, The Sick Child I, 1896
Transfer lithograph printed from two stones in pale blue and black ink on ivory wove paper
Image Courtesy of the Art Institute of Chicago
En route I would speak when I could
Saying to the workers you must be busy lately I can’t
Remember how I’d make conversation from a place
So blank soft as aging
Collards my husband came outside
Alongside the stretcher his mask on waved at
Me from the street as we pulled off
Not allowed to join but sometimes he would
Join later in his own ambulance & they’d
Stick us together in our own little just-built extra ER
Room heart hurting breath hard balance strange
One young nurse too fearful to
Enter asking questions through the door’s
Window standing on tip-toes to see
Inside no it’s okay I don’t know why
Anyone would work with me I would
Not bees storming my gut my thought
But those who answered my call they came to lift
Those whose lives I dared to risk
We’d ride together in the cold square car their
Eyes fixed w/direction
Forward on the rain-less windshield
Those whose hands reached straight into the well I’d ask
Them if they were busy
Lately you have no idea they’d say & shake
Heads wet with memory