They say not
All heroes wear capes.
They’re right. Some
Heroes are dead.
Bouquets of syringes cling to
Pallid skin. Tubes snake
Between fingers grasping
For air. The stench of
Morphine is reminiscent of
Ancient poppies.
A family decimated
Under fluorescent lights, eyes
Glazed like the curve of
Fine china. Gray skin matches
Gray eyes. Death
Is not like it is
On TV.
Fear rises along with
The bitterness of
Bile. Lights reflect off
Blue masks as if
This were the dentist.
Open wide. So much of
A fuss as capillaries break on what
Must only be
A piece of meat.
Final goodbyes said as
Lips meet cooling skin.
Elevator doors scream
GOING DOWN as
They close, the valves of
A dying heart.
Go save
Some lives.
A final gift is given from
The hands of one victim
To another. How ironic that
For each life saved,
One must
Be lost.
Marie Zelaya is a half-Honduran Michigander who lives with her extended family, a cowardly dog, an extremely fluffy cat, and two enigmatic fish. She very much enjoys playing classical music on the piano, eating hot sauce-covered things, and watching Star Trek.