Martha Rhodes
I found myself looking down
from the ceiling of an unfamiliar room,
empty but for a chair, desk and my husband.
He was on the floor,
his eyes and mouth still open
and dark. I lowered myself, somehow
pumping the blood stalled in his veins
back into circulation; it was all effortless, his cheeks
reddened, he rose to standing, and through me
passed, no thank you, no recognition, resuming
his work as if it had never stopped.