Ylene’s Revival (To All Nurses) – Poetry by D. R. Darvishian

            You used to text me
          about my deceased mother,
            on that anniversary.
           Like I had not noticed;
           Like I needed reminding,
      Because, I guess, you felt I was not
             Sufficiently sad,
      Or that I understood only too obtuse
           the fragility of life,
                How it slews
          and skeins unpredictably
            sometimes into fear,
    or that you also had a claim on her love.
                  You did.
          And you remembered for me.
                 How nice.
             Yes. Right. Maybe.
         I bathed her as she cried
            without her breasts,
just a clean swipe across her pale, boney chest.
        The wheel coming close around,
             Like it did for you.
             So when you emerged
           From air-lock isolation,
           I, too, caught my breath,
   Thinking you really had dodged a bullet.
       It is a kind of miracle, right?
  Don’t you think the sky is a special blue?
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