The Wild Muse

wildness, wonder, and the spirit of place

The Hospital

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You will stop recognizing the words.
You will hear symphonies, your father’s voice.
You will see swallows dropping
between boards as you hide
in a barn of your memory.

Feel the weight of my hand.
Soon enough
this, too, will be gone.

And then you will be
a mouth needing only food,
a void nothing can fill.

I will try to get you to remember.
I will show you images
(if only there were images).
I will recite your devotion lines
as if they existed.
I will tell you how you loved
when the doors ached,
the pins trembled.
I will show you where we sat
on this mountain, looking out together,
when you were not ill,
when you were only a disease waiting.

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Author: Aleah Sato

Writer, wanderer, dreamer, desert dweller

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