Bright blue hole burns through her chest
Right above where the guts begin
Blue like the slit growing in her head

I don’t want to talk about it
I don’t want to think about it

Always wanted to be an ICU nurse
The real action
I’ve got five on ventilators
Usually it’s two
Will my luck hold or
Hold me ransom?

You don’t cry, you weep

They’re lying prone, breaths too shallow
Rustling hearts pushing tired darts of
Dark red blood into white glazed eyes
I hope they can’t see where they are
Three alarm bells ringing
Who’s on first?

I don’t want to think about it
I do need to talk about it

A pneumothorax; no wonder he’s blue
Now he’s got less than half a lung
Can I place the chest tube myself
If I screw up will he still make it?

Her fever burns inside
Heat pouring from pale-blue palms
I’d pack her in ice but that won’t help
We’re born trapped in dying bodies but
She thought they’d have decades 

I’d like not to think about it
I don’t want to dream about it

They come, go out
Leaving for some permanent address
Too many of them, too few of us
The walls so thick no one sees
Blood seeping across the other side
I keep crying

Dream I’m in an ICU bed
Tube furry-thick in my throat
Face slicked down on a sheet
Same glare I see at work
Shadows float through my hands
Stone cold hands
A hot blue hole burns in my chest

I don’t want to talk about it
I don’t want to