A Cold, Horizontal Slice

Vibrant white lights burned away

Any shadows in the room,

A million metallic objects

Reflected the brilliant light in every direction.

She was wheeled in on her bed.

I was taken in, by the arm,

And sat on a stool near her head,

Threatened repeatedly not to touch anything.

I was dressed in hospital scrubs,

Mismatched and smelling of bulk antiseptic.

She was dressed in only a paper gown

Scratchy and ill-fitting, smelling of plastic.

She shook, a combination of

Anxiety and the coldness of the room;

Beads of sweat ran down her forehead

Along with tears from her eyes.

An army of people, blue paper people

Buzzed around the room,

Caps and masks hiding any feeling at all

Save for the one man in white.

He sat at her feet, words soft

He erected a paper wall at her waist

His words cut through the din,

Sympathetic, reassuring.

She felt nothing, save for fear,

And I felt curious, so I peered

Over the white paper wall

And breathlessly watched.

He made a single cut, small;

A cold, horizontal slice

Less the size of my fist,

And a thin line of blood dripped down.

Tiny tin fingers clamped the edges

And ripped her insides open.

She didn’t flinch, but I grew dizzy.

The smell of her blood and sweat

Stole the oxygen from my lungs

And before I caught my breath

He was here.

He was small. So small.

The man in white displayed him,

All smiles and giggles,

Though he made only soft, crying sounds.

A swarm of paper people took him away

Flew him from the room

And the man in white was back inside.

Moments later, he was here:

Number two, slightly larger,

On display again

He was wrapped tightly in a blanket

And placed in my arms

If he made any noise at all,

It was drowned out by our crying.

She brushed his cheek with her hand

And just as fast

The paper people whisked him away

To join his brother in the next room.

She cried until she slept

And we waited, hours passing

Until we could wheel her into the quiet room.

Soft lighting, melodic bells counting

Seconds into hours

Towards the clear plastic shells

Encasing them in soft, pleasant heat.

Covered in wires and sensors in their plastic prison,

She and I took comfort in the sounds

Reverberating from the machines overhead,

The strong, melodic tempo

Of their very real, very lively heartbeats.