They will crack open her tiny chest.
They will reach in with their gloved hands
and lift the sodden lungs out
to a silver tray.
Then these miraculous pink things, intricate
as loofah sponges, strong as a woman’s
life, waiting on another tray, will be lifted
in, clamped and cajoled to stay, stay.
Where will she be for all this?
Floating, only a ribbon
to keep her from drifting away.
And then, the air bursting in.
A parent with an adopted
child, she will beg for acceptance.
Eliza Callard lives in the Germantown neighborhood of Philadelphia, in the same rowhouse she grew up in. She spends her days writing, fighting Cystic Fibrosis, and hanging out with her family and friends. Her website is elizacallard.com.