Oct 2014
Screeching tires, blinding lights, smashing glass.
The whole ordeal took maybe 5 minutes.
Drivers slow down to peek and observe
Then speed down the road.
But, when you’re laying there in the glass and noise.
It’s not the same.
The paramedics came.
Remain calm.
Breathe.
Don’t close your eyes.
Stay with us.8
Breathe.
The only thing I can think about is my license.
Two Words
***** Donor.
They’re missing from my ID.
I didn’t check the box.
***** Donor.
The paramedics are talking.
Mumbling.
They’re underwater.
That’s not good.
I want to be an ***** donor* I say.
They pause.
One moment.
Dave looks at me.
His name is embroidered on his uniform.
Is uniform the right word?
I want to be an ***** donor.
I say again.
It won’t come to that
Dave assures me.
His smile is weak.
***** Donor.
Write it down I say
Firm.
Dave shrugs and takes out his clipboard.
I watch him write
***** Donor.
I sigh, relieved.
Anything else?
Dave asks.
He looks at his partner
He’s covered in blood.
My blood.
That’s not good.
***** Donor.
Yes. I tell Dave.
He gets his pencil ready.
He smiles.
It’s half sincere.
He’s worried.
Last will and testament smile.
I want to be an
***** Donor.
Got that.
Dave says.
The lights are blinding.
I smell and taste metal.
That’s not good.
What to say?
Everything. I want to say everything.
I think of my mom
Clutched hands
White knuckles
Sitting, pacing, crying
The waiting room
Green and white, calming colors
She is red
Her face from lack of sleep
From crying
Stark against the calm walls.
I think of my mother and breathe.
Take everything you can.
Take my body
I don’t need it anymore.
Take it and tell my mother the
Good
It will do.
Take my feet
And tell my mother
About every mile they will walk.
Tell her they will dance in homes
To silly music
and skip through fields
And trudge through mud.
They will scale mountains
And swim through oceans.
They will burn on hot asphalt
And curl up in Satin sheets.
Take my feet.
Take my hands
And tell my mother
About every handshake
Every high five
Every hand they hold.
Tell her they will be covered in paint
And chocolate and dirt and clay.
My fingers will run through hair
And sand and silk.
They will give hugs and caresses
And love to show they understand.
Take my hands.
Take my eyes
And tell my mother
About everything they will see.
Tell her they will see
Sunrises and sunsets
Mountains, oceans, and airports.
They will sparkle with laughter
And shine with tears.
Tell her that someone will
Fall in love with them
And they will grow
Old and wise.
Take my eyes.
Take my ears
And tell my mother
About all what they will hear.
Tell her they will rock out at concerts
And hear lullabies sung for children.
They will find magic in the spoken word and will hear love and hate.
Tell her about every heart beat,
Sigh of content, and bolt of laughter
They will hear.
Take my ears.
Take my nose
And tell my mother
About everything it will smell.
Tell her it will catch wisps of
Perfume and Cologne
Mingling with coffee and bread
From a Paris café.
It will crinkle at the smell of skunks
But open wide at the smell of rose.
Take my nose.
Take my lips
And tell my mother
About every sweet kiss.
Tell her they will whisper
I love you
And really mean it.
They will stretch with laughter
purse with disdain
and never make a duck face.
They will speak slowly savoring
Every syllable of sound
And tumble fast over flirty quips
Take my lips.
Take my lungs
And tell my mother
About every breath of air they get.
Tell her they will feel crisp autumn winds
And heavy humid summer breezes.
They will heave and pant in laughter
And in despair.
They will catch and gasp and get the hiccups.
They will bellow leaving
No song unsung.
Take my lungs.
Take my heart.
Please take my heart
And tell my mother
About every single beat.
Tell her when it moves fast
Or slow.
Tell her it will be consumed
With passion
And blaze with ecstasy.
Tell her it will grow
And grow
And grow
And grow
Tell her it will never forget her.
Tell her it will give someone
A new start.
Please, take my heart.
Please take my heart.
Take my kidneys, liver, spleen, stomach, and appendix.
Whatever you need take it from me.
***** Donor.
I want to be an ***** donor
Because I want to live.
The whole ordeal took maybe 5 minutes.
Drivers slow down to peek and observe
Then speed down the road.
But, when you’re laying there in the glass and noise.
It’s not the same.
The paramedics came.
Remain calm.
Breathe.
Don’t close your eyes.
Stay with us.8
Breathe.
The only thing I can think about is my license.
Two Words
***** Donor.
They’re missing from my ID.
I didn’t check the box.
***** Donor.
The paramedics are talking.
Mumbling.
They’re underwater.
That’s not good.
I want to be an ***** donor* I say.
They pause.
One moment.
Dave looks at me.
His name is embroidered on his uniform.
Is uniform the right word?
I want to be an ***** donor.
I say again.
It won’t come to that
Dave assures me.
His smile is weak.
***** Donor.
Write it down I say
Firm.
Dave shrugs and takes out his clipboard.
I watch him write
***** Donor.
I sigh, relieved.
Anything else?
Dave asks.
He looks at his partner
He’s covered in blood.
My blood.
That’s not good.
***** Donor.
Yes. I tell Dave.
He gets his pencil ready.
He smiles.
It’s half sincere.
He’s worried.
Last will and testament smile.
I want to be an
***** Donor.
Got that.
Dave says.
The lights are blinding.
I smell and taste metal.
That’s not good.
What to say?
Everything. I want to say everything.
I think of my mom
Clutched hands
White knuckles
Sitting, pacing, crying
The waiting room
Green and white, calming colors
She is red
Her face from lack of sleep
From crying
Stark against the calm walls.
I think of my mother and breathe.
Take everything you can.
Take my body
I don’t need it anymore.
Take it and tell my mother the
Good
It will do.
Take my feet
And tell my mother
About every mile they will walk.
Tell her they will dance in homes
To silly music
and skip through fields
And trudge through mud.
They will scale mountains
And swim through oceans.
They will burn on hot asphalt
And curl up in Satin sheets.
Take my feet.
Take my hands
And tell my mother
About every handshake
Every high five
Every hand they hold.
Tell her they will be covered in paint
And chocolate and dirt and clay.
My fingers will run through hair
And sand and silk.
They will give hugs and caresses
And love to show they understand.
Take my hands.
Take my eyes
And tell my mother
About everything they will see.
Tell her they will see
Sunrises and sunsets
Mountains, oceans, and airports.
They will sparkle with laughter
And shine with tears.
Tell her that someone will
Fall in love with them
And they will grow
Old and wise.
Take my eyes.
Take my ears
And tell my mother
About all what they will hear.
Tell her they will rock out at concerts
And hear lullabies sung for children.
They will find magic in the spoken word and will hear love and hate.
Tell her about every heart beat,
Sigh of content, and bolt of laughter
They will hear.
Take my ears.
Take my nose
And tell my mother
About everything it will smell.
Tell her it will catch wisps of
Perfume and Cologne
Mingling with coffee and bread
From a Paris café.
It will crinkle at the smell of skunks
But open wide at the smell of rose.
Take my nose.
Take my lips
And tell my mother
About every sweet kiss.
Tell her they will whisper
I love you
And really mean it.
They will stretch with laughter
purse with disdain
and never make a duck face.
They will speak slowly savoring
Every syllable of sound
And tumble fast over flirty quips
Take my lips.
Take my lungs
And tell my mother
About every breath of air they get.
Tell her they will feel crisp autumn winds
And heavy humid summer breezes.
They will heave and pant in laughter
And in despair.
They will catch and gasp and get the hiccups.
They will bellow leaving
No song unsung.
Take my lungs.
Take my heart.
Please take my heart
And tell my mother
About every single beat.
Tell her when it moves fast
Or slow.
Tell her it will be consumed
With passion
And blaze with ecstasy.
Tell her it will grow
And grow
And grow
And grow
Tell her it will never forget her.
Tell her it will give someone
A new start.
Please, take my heart.
Please take my heart.
Take my kidneys, liver, spleen, stomach, and appendix.
Whatever you need take it from me.
***** Donor.
I want to be an ***** donor
Because I want to live.
