Door of Air: Poems by Morgan Yasbincek

By | 1 February 2022

golden mala – for B

it’s been four days since you
left your voice, carried off
in the flood of the stroke
along with upright movement
down the left side

green of your irises does the speaking now, flashes
signals of intensity, sign language of head movements
a nod when asked if you’re sleeping ok, no when
asked about pain
your right hand in my left, a golden mala
wound around your forearm

your absent voice hovers in its case of the past, its
clear low tones resonate in auditory recollection
its positive rush, deep tender handling of words, patient
cushioning as it carries a thing of wonder out from
its wet chamber into air

your voice would never have cut anything
into silence out of spite, it moved with a current of faith, now
that you have resigned it that reassurance is assigned
to the pulsing grip and release of your hand
in mine

so we move into learning how to read all
over again, redirect all focus to facial
each movement a new link in the connection

ignore the strangeness of a room neither
of us have been in before, with its curtain in
front of the door, its unopenable window
the flame tree outside holding a single magpie
stone blue sky, solid with water, bag of amber urine
hanging off this side of your bed

probably the last your partner says
you move nothing in response

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