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Rescue

Rescue When I see the purple martin    gleaming lost in summer grass, I know, from once responding    otherwise, exactly what to do: retrieve pillowcase and box,    return afraid my hands will grasp too hard, my human-heavy scent    suffocate lungs used to loamy earth. Inside, the man I have not yet married    remains recovering from a stroke, unable to walk, speech and vision stuttered    and dimmed, snapped limb of our lives scattering splinters around us.    From nested sleep he finds me, opens his mouth for pills placed on his tongue.    Back in the yard, fear of not trying moves me closer to the bird, his body    a gift in my suddenly certain hands. The box where he is lowered    fills with all that has fallen and flown. He looks at me the way birds do,    as if I am the one fallen. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png JAMA American Medical Association

Rescue

JAMA , Volume 307 (22) – Jun 13, 2012

Rescue

Abstract

When I see the purple martin    gleaming lost in summer grass, I know, from once responding    otherwise, exactly what to do: retrieve pillowcase and box,    return afraid my hands will grasp too hard, my human-heavy scent    suffocate lungs used to loamy earth. Inside, the man I have not yet married    remains recovering from a stroke, unable to walk, speech and vision stuttered    and dimmed, snapped...
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Publisher
American Medical Association
Copyright
Copyright © 2012 American Medical Association. All Rights Reserved.
ISSN
0098-7484
eISSN
1538-3598
DOI
10.1001/jama.2012.3554
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

When I see the purple martin    gleaming lost in summer grass, I know, from once responding    otherwise, exactly what to do: retrieve pillowcase and box,    return afraid my hands will grasp too hard, my human-heavy scent    suffocate lungs used to loamy earth. Inside, the man I have not yet married    remains recovering from a stroke, unable to walk, speech and vision stuttered    and dimmed, snapped limb of our lives scattering splinters around us.    From nested sleep he finds me, opens his mouth for pills placed on his tongue.    Back in the yard, fear of not trying moves me closer to the bird, his body    a gift in my suddenly certain hands. The box where he is lowered    fills with all that has fallen and flown. He looks at me the way birds do,    as if I am the one fallen.

Journal

JAMAAmerican Medical Association

Published: Jun 13, 2012

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