SEND FOR SPECIALISTS
There are broken bones in my poems,
and bruises where the words
have been shaken, and scars
that speak of recklessness.
My poems need bedside care.
They don’t breathe with freedom.
The phrases take short breaths,
as if all the words
are straining to stay alive.
Each line lets out its life slowly
like the last words of someone
who has always been lost.
Let the nurses bring bandages.
Let the doctors send for specialists,
the ones who heal words and hearts.