Emily Murman

HEART TAP

the off-white sprawl of this
composite-tiled corridor,
bleached but sweet w / sicker smells
contracts to an
imagined angle 2 fingers over & up
from umbilicus—

there a chartreuse blooms
as fiercely as the spasms
in my own stomach

I try to channel them as
another invisible line,
a bolt to the heart, but the growl
of trocar tip
poised to pierce / gargle & suck
becomes too much

then I sense my teacher
edge nearer to me
press a broad hand to my back
as something warm to lean on

& when he pats me there I jab
unflinching as 2 ft of metal
disappear into the dead man

a gush of blood runs through
coils of plastic tubing hanging
rigid at my ankles

it is the living one I
cannot dare to look at
flushing as our initial stab
slides into tandem push / pull
my throat full
thoughts a flood of dark water

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