Sport 38: Winter 2010
Elegy
page 103
Elegy
I am holding her hand when
the surgeon knocks and opens the door.
Over her legs a thin sheet,
ice chips dissolving in a paper cup.
She's bigger than her body. It has hardly anything to do
with her in the end—the distance between skin and self, endless.
I am stepping out into the morning
walking faster and faster, away.