Hospital, ’58

 

Something is wrong with the moon, green music, eighth notes, no one can tell what it will be worth–so the boy in the hospital draws it under the blanket, the sliced moon that hums from deep places. And the boy thinks how soon enough the moon will make him transparent. He knows this will happen. This is disability in childhood. And the doctors keep pulling on the boy’s arms, trying to rub out the light.