Between Time

There was no stench of death when I awoke,

I hadn’t known.

-

I only knew someone had opened

a window,

let the autumn air waft in,

pushed open the threadbare curtains just a little,

so the sunlight danced across my face.

I could see it

even with my eyes closed.

-

For a moment, I was small again—

four or five,

tucked into a four-poster bed,

princess sheets and my mother making pancakes

downstairs.

I wondered, half-dreaming,

if we might go apple-picking.

-

My eyes opened and my child hand reached

for the magical light streaming through the dust motes,

even as my adult hand reached

Beyond the edge of the bare mattress

for the loaded needle.

-

I did not know he was sitting in the glow of the TV,

blue

cans at his feet.

-

I was lost in the moment of sunlight,

in this usually airless space.

-

Before I knew,

before I opened my eyes,

Before I pushed the needle,

I was a child.

I was shaking.

I was