Turn each page packed with clues
of Paris, Swiss Air, grandkids, upstairs,
only then she remembers. At noon booze
mixes with Coumadin, Ambien, spares
her seeing Paris, grandkids, upstairs, air-
planes. The fifty-foot oxygen tube
mixes air with Coumadin, Ambien, tearing
her days away like paper squares. Her hubris
explains the fifty-foot oxygen tube,
her two-pack-a-day dare, the show
of tearing off warnings like paper squares. Hubris
now is bathing alone, placing toe before toe,
two packs of tanks a day. All signs show
she will not remember. Noon to night, booze
bathes her, the dance of toe to toe
is a page turned, packed with missed cues.
Kate Gray’s passion stems from teaching, coaching writers, and volunteering as a writing facilitator with women inmates. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, two full-length collections, Another Sunset We Survive, which was a finalist for the Oregon Book Award, and a newly released collection, For Every Girl: New & Selected Poems, published by Widow & Orphan House. Her first novel, Carry the Sky, stares at bullying without blinking. Now she is writing through Sylvia Plath in a novel-in-progress, narrating what led to The Bell Jar and her suicide attempt. Kate and her partner live in a purple house in Portland, Oregon, with their impetuous dog. More info at kategraywrites.com.