Well . . .

Best get this off my mind now before the new year comes.

Imaging
Carol Schiess

Hands tied to the rails of a gurney,
her fingernails dig at the air,
head turns side to side in a ritual
of movement. An attendant pushes her along,
his steps quick, knowing the way
to the X-ray lab without looking

She seems not to look, not to see
the paintings on these basement walls,
bright watercolors--reds, greens, yellows
cascade across the paper; children, bunnies
collide in unhindered play; happy nature
holding back some threat, some hidden terror.

She moans, calls out for help, cries
for love or proper care or someone.
"There, there," her escort answers.
He does not know her name. "There, there,
we're almost there," his litany
sterile as the place. "There, there," again,
as if the X-ray lab would be her haven.