SCHOOL OF MEDICINE
MEDICAL PRACTICE
The Illuminated Death of Melinda Sanchez Lynne McFarland Day 1 The east light fills the living room. You finally fell asleep near dawn. “I want clarity,” you said, dropping off. Marina, nina amada, eyes dark, Crawls into her childhood bed. And Shadow whines to go out. When we return, he silently Shakes snow from his coat, Then moves from room to room, Nails clicking on the wooden floors. He sniffs your breath, and touches Her closed eye lids softly with his nose. I settle in your rocking chair And enter The circle of clarity You’ve gathered to surround you-An archipelago of journals, Zen books, Watercolors, old letters From El Leon, padre de Marina (El ya esta meurto. Triste.), I’m thinking Nights here are Not Good. Last night not even Gary Oldman Could match your intensity: “Help me!” Flying out of bed Astonished by pain,
Beautiful Marina grabbing your shoulders and Holding you face to face Your eyes locking like fierce animals Till the dilaudid kicked in. Dilaudid or clarity Dilaudid or clarity. For Marina, it’s a no-brainer. Day 2 The cancer nurse in jeans shows me How to set the PCA pump. “You can go up to 4,” she says, clicking through the buttons. I nod, uncertain. You say you’ll die when Sharon comes. Sharon, Older Daughter, is estranged. I think That’s bad. That’s good. That buys you Lots of time. In plastic containers, Marina has ordered The stuff of dying at home. Pre-filled syringes, tubing, alcohol, Each in its own tray, like lingerie. Ativan is in the frig. And carrot juice-Your only sustenance these days, Though you plan the meals for us– Telling me to steam the rice Your Way. Su forma… Is the only way.
Family, Healthcare, and Medicine
2010
Tabula Rasa
29