Kate Hammerich's most recent poem to appear here was when she cut out her voice appeared here in February 2013.

By Kate Hammerich

November 10, 2012

After the same nurses keep coming
with full syringes, night after night,

they ask their questions: Who
is on the phone? Why am I alone?

Some days are a compromise, some
teach you how to give up


in sickening pain, unrelieved,
and they call Robin even thought

it's the night shift, to tell me I cannot eat yet,
nor die, nor sleep,

just a sleepy scientist rubbing his thumb
against the back of my hand,

murmuring, you must stand up,
against the sideways world,

then, shhh, as he lits me,
fragile and burning,

surprising a giggle
musically alive,

as he carries me
into the dark

where the machines hum
and rock me like waves

against the restless


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