His thigh pressed down on her.
Poppies scattered
from her mouth.
The sound, as in a dream,
emptied out.
She could not fight
what was not there.
Paramedics brought her under to the bright hall.
Scuffling
along in slippers and flimsy gowns,
heavy-lidded, slow and slurred –
the dead
were not what she’d been told.
Just lonely
easily spooked by
spotlights.
Starving for Earth,
she would have eaten dirt.
He fed her pills innuendos.
One by one,
grinding to dust,
she ate them from his hand.
When she returned, her mind was mangled
flitting on the edges, burning holes.
The evening news – she could not listen.
Half here-half there.
She lay
throat full of troubles
in the golden grasses.