Survive*
Her vomit painted the floor.
Her unending cries
deafened us all.
His body burned for minutes, hours, days.
He was sluggish,
unresponsive.
She was rushed to the hospital,
104 degrees fahrenheit
hours and hours with an IV.
Several months pregnant,
driving, late,
in a state whose permit tests ask more about BAC than about driving,
she got in an accident.
Tubes
and tubes
and tubes
were here, there, everywhere
in and out of his body,
now just a fraction of its predecessor.
Tossing and turning,
cold and hot
from day to night,
getting up,
losing consciousness.
Itchy throat,
swollen,
hives,
throat, closing
and closing,
voice silencing,
breathing gets
harder
and harder,
and harder.
Sometimes I stay up,
far later than everyone else.
I listen
to the soft snores
that fill the lonely night’s silences
and I’m so scared
for the day
they’ll stop,
and I’m so thankful
so very, very thankful
because,
we survived.
I’m so thankful
so very, very thankful
because,
I get to hug them when they cry.
I get to hold their hands.
I get to hear their complaints.
I get to
listen
to their soft snores
that fill the lonely night’s silences.