SIX LIFE SENTENCES

 

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SIX LIFE SENTENCES

 Thirty-nine cartridges of rapturously hued lipstick stacked
the bottom shelf of the medicine cabinet,
secured by safety-capped brown cylinders of Xanax, Zoloft and Ambien,
an aquamarine bottle of Cool Mint Listerine
and two reels of dental floss,
unwaxed.
 
She swooped through her New England clam chowder--
clotted, creamy and pepper-crusted--
in rhythmic, efficient loops.

A yellow cab clawed to a halt beckoned by the incarnadine fingertip
of the tall, shouldery ash blonde with a slung brown bag,
patent leather stilettos
and seamed black stockings.The doctor said, we’ll do all we can,
and glanced at the far wall
in wan affirmation of his credentials.

One morning, she gaped at the ragged swatches of hair on her pillow
then raked her head with trembling nail-bitten fingers.

A lank young man in a fuchia Hawaiian shirt,
insane with bougainvillea and hibiscus,
shepherds the wheelchair down Gay Street,
the rider, chin in hand,
staring,
still.

James Ryan

North American Open Poetry Contest, Second Prize, 1994