Neutropenic Precautions

You were sick in the sink,
body bowed, folded in half,
fingers gripping the countertop
‘til your knuckles turned white.
It was loud like bullets in a bathtub,
even with the faucet and the eleven o’clock news
both blasting at full blast.

You looked almost like a wave
the upward pull, hips and shoulders
canting up, rolling forward,
foamy froth spewing out. And
then you’d pull back, and up, fall
forward again, cough and sputter
as the tide crashed down.

You moaned what might have been
my name, but I could not tell
because the weather was up next
and I did not want to miss it. But,
I rubbed circles
into the countertops,
cool and calming things,
coaxing a gleam from the granite.

You fell asleep later, couldn’t
make it up the stairs so I helped you
to the couch, covered your head
in wool, threw the fresh fruit and vegetables
and all the flowers
into the trash, and
washed the sink with blue dish soap.

Katharine O'Reilly has recently completed her first year of study at Western University.  She is enrolled in the Faculty of Arts and Humanities.