Cruor
confusing
her calm
with
the numbness
that escorts shock,
he’s reflected
in crimson tinted water,
a portrayal
of both the rush
& loss of motherhood options
assurance is needed,
but who can part lips
about the unspeakable?
words are swords
thrust deeper,
or if you’re lucky,
liniments
that alleviate
time is pressing,
the walls are beclouded
in her view, but he
is thinking
of Narcissus, both
the flowers
in his grandmother’s
garden & the myth,
& the terror
of doing something
so dangerous
as facing yourself
for the remainder
of your life
her voice, unlike that
of Echo, breaks
the spell of traumatism
before it attaches
she’s breathing along
with the reassuring
physician through
a spotty connection
& only then
does he move
to go warm up the car
Thistle Thoughts 
This poem has pain and anxiety and a strange reassurance!
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