A machine drones on, squeezing
and releasing to keep her legs from clotting
She whispers, lips moving at rocket speed
She cannot be singing, not that fast
She is speaking, not aloud, but to her Maker
in an appeal.

Her hands curl around the finger probe
toying with imaginary beads
Parched lips struggle
to separate on the “Hail”
purse together for “Mary”
then finally form “full of grace”

She blesses the fruit of thy womb Jesus
while her own womb bears a new incision
“Holy Mary Mother of God” she murmurs
moving beads through bandaged hands

She clenches the rosary lifts it up
the beads speak back
a dialogue between hands and heart

Her eyes open, roll back into her head
looking inward for salvation
from this cruelty imposed upon her
She contemplates the Mysteries
joyful, luminous, sorrowful and glorious
in rhythm with the IV drip.

7/25/2010