Karen Kevorkian: EVERYTHING STRANGELY FAMILIAR AND ALIEN

All day, people washed the body, 
stuck it, told it to open wide
to ease the pill down the dry throat

sometimes it was necessary
to turn from the eyes

sometimes dust settling
on the shoulders of ornamental glass

not the tall brown important bottles
with white plastic caps, each day
tilting toward late afternoon’s
foil fissures on the wall

and the mirror’s long silver shafts
slanted like rain, the body almost no more

it was drifting,
blood journeying on an opiate sea,
it left the shore

what good was disappointment
or relief, pale
as longstalked lilies, their sickest
sweetness

or the eyelet edging the pillowy quilt
bunched so like a watchful dog
ready for come here, now

from Literary Pool, 2014