DAWN DIEZ WILLIS
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         Pneumonia & Smoke

 The broken bird of belief calls
preacher, preacher, preacher from the lawn of childhood.
Lynn thinks it accuses her as her thoughts do:
you made the baby sick with dark thinking.
Her husband, her mother-in-law agree,
and they pray together near the crib slats.
They weed their thoughts, believe.

Still, the baby girl wheezes, flutters fists. 
Lynn stands, takes up the girl, runs to the car.
On the drive, examining her conscience,
she tries to remove each wrong thought,
but each returns, flies that will not be waved off.
Past the sliding hospital doors, she seeks
the stark declarations of prayer,
​
struggles to construct her thoughts like little
cathedrals of straw, and hands the baby
to the wordless, white-clad nurse.
To her left, she sees the smokers in their special room.
Their ashen cords reach up to touch
the hopeful ceiling tiles above their tired heads.
When she joins them, the smokers do not ask her
if she wants the baby to be sick. 
They are more practical. 
They believe in the power of misfortune.


from Still Life with Judas & Lightning (Airlie Press 2013)

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