By, D. Simondet
I’m lying here with such a view
To see all within my purview
The techs are moving about
With hardly nary a shout.
They weigh you and measure
Your pressure and weight
You know it’s the right estimate.
Needles are placed to ease the flow
To continue the life we once knew
And soon we will have life anew.
Free of liquid, germs and brew.
The techs know how to do it
Their talent shows every day
You might even say: “that’s the way”
They are beautiful people if you must know
Capable, trained and experts in their field
Their goal is renewing life anew.
And I am very grateful I can take part
In this department where life is given
Just so I could keep on living.
Of My Peritoneal Dialysis Machine
By Daniel Marlin
When the clock of your kidneys
ran down, your appetite gone,
the dinner before
untouched, you noticed my hesitation to begin the meal,
smiled across the table,
“Eat darling, eat for both of us.”
I think of you, mother,
as I listen
to this machine,
which could have
cleansed the darkness of fatigue
beneath your eyes,
spared you violent
fifty years ago.
Its’ tiny motherboard brain
has no code for fear or dignity,
gratitude or pity.
It does not know my name
as it fills me from five liter bags,
then drains through winding tubes,
the toxins in my blood.
Sometimes it’s noise,
leading into sleep,
reminds of voyages,
the earnest rumble of sturdy vessels
which delivered my limbs
through wind and time.
Its low ratatatat,
like ropes whipped into the ferry’s mast
on Japan’s Inland Sea,
headed to Oshima island,
to the farmhouse
where my wife was born.
Each night, the strange music;
a gentle crinkling,
the great sighs, like a bus braking,
the hum, steady and dogged,
vibrating like the engine beneath my bunk
on the black diamond freighter,
plowing swells of the North Atlantic
--as I escaped America at war,
Listen to the bag sucked dry –
hiss of an enraged raccoon;
and to the motor grown suddenly still –
silence of a hummingbird
paused from its labor
at the tip of a branch.
I, who carry
your broken gene, mother,
that falling star
in the firmament of cells,
savor, for both of us, the gift
of resurrection by machine.