SHIRLEY STEPHENSON

Disabled Odyssey

If only the insects would die,
and the sand keep its seat.
If only the ambulances would stop
arriving, and the patient
remove her helmet, you
might find something to feel
again. The river fills the mouth
before the ocean. Too fat
to fit on a gurney, the rotten
leg is wrapped and suspended.
If only we hadn’t waited,
she thinks. If only we all had
winter-colored smocks
and syringes for put-in,
we wouldn’t miss the exit
signs submerged in fog
or require quarantine.
Thirty days would be enough.