Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

Jerilynn is talking now.

Jacquie comes awake.

Jerilynn stares at Dawn, callling her Mother ?

In her midlife midwife mid-death bones, Dawn knows the girl is dying. She must now open the terrible beautiful gift. She must now unwrap the paper. How perfectly imperfect that it is here, that she is here, that they are here. Jacquie watches their interplay, but does not compete, allowing Dawn to shadow Jerrilyn’s shade day is done, gone the sun. Day is Dawn, gone the swan. From the lake from the pills from this guy Jerilynn says, I don’t understand where I am. Dawn says, You don’t have to. You don’t have to understand or know The othermother marveling at the tenderness of the exchange the perfect imperfect poetry of give & take the fading light dims the sight & dead stars gem the skygleaming bright Mother , says Jerilynn (to Dawn, why won’t she look at me, I’m here baby), I took your cameras all your cameras Jacquie gulps down breaths she is drowning, Jacquie says I don’t care about the cameras! Jerilynn, it doesn’t matter! I don’t care about the cameras! Reeyonna! it’s the 1st time she interjects, but daughter does not turn toward mother’s panicked voice, nor look at or even toward the mother, nor even voice-attends. She only has encrypted eyes for Dawn, she calls Dawn mommy, mama at least she’s calling out for that, for mommy/mama hari Krishna Krishna hari hari mama mama –

mama I took your cameras, I don’t know where I am, where am I supposed to be? Dawn says, Right where you are sweetheart you’re right where you’re supposed to be you’re perfect the give & take, the taking the giving (of) thanks & praise. for our days. neath the sun, neath deadstars, neath the sky now Jerilynnis drowning, Jacquie says, Should we call someone? Dawn, should we call? — Jerilynnshouting at Dawn Mom You! don’t! know! none of you! none! of! you! know! where! where I am going! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! mama-mommy rushes out Dawn says it’s all right baby it’s all right to let go never would Dawn have dreamt she’d have such surety at end-of-life, end of others’, never never ever, she just knew, she now knows, now she knows & prays dispassionately compassionate end-of-life will H A P P E N, soon, at least before they come barging—— son has set——shadows come——time has fled, sheets are red, in the beds now the scrubs rush in on cue, of course they do, the thousands of forgettable scenes, they crashcart-gallop after the dark star dark horse, though more it’s the dragon of flatlineshrieking machine they chase, the machine sent them code babyblue, not the heed of shocky grandma’s alarum. . . . . Dawn knows they’re too late to catch that blackened horse, to reign & subdue it, giving her measure of comfort that her surrogate child will not (cannot) be brought back to suffer more indignities of the flesh, hadn’t she sacrificed enough? hadn’t she already bled out? hadn’t she summoned the atrocious grace to leave a perfectly imperfect yawping pink thing behind? one that would look like her (& Rikki) & make her same mistakes, and make some she hadn’t (not that Jeri wouldn’t have, she just wouldn’t have the time), who’d grow up in darkness, yes, but in the brightness of gods&glories too, gods&glories her mother would have died too young to feel or to know, never would Dawn have imagined she would be blessed with the knowledge the gift of knowing when was too late, never dreamed she’d have such surety, in hurricane’s eye Dawn is calm how how why is it so I never dreamed I could be this calm she needs to be, calm & centered, because Reeyonna is still connected to Dawn by the eyes, the girl’s still staring, stormwindow eyes silently lushly dischordantly singing while the eyes fade from sight, & deadstars, gleaming rays, softly send the tiresome code blue crashcart heroism can do nothing to stop the last verse to thine hands

we, our souls

Lord come in.

Who Wore It Best?

Rikki

gets back to the hospital late because they smoked & got caught up in Jerzy’s numerological bullshit. J comes with, they go to obstetrics, a nurse says Are you the father? Yes, I’m the father (which actually sounded cool to say). Wait one moment. [ Then ] OK, they’re in the family lounge outside CCU, L-14.

When they get there his fosterfolks are kinda drapey on the couch, oddly spent, redrimmed eyes, Dawn sort of jowly, the only thing on Rikki’s clouded hammery mind is to apologize for being late, for missing the birth, it never even occurs to him the birth maybe didn’t happen yet, he knows he should see the baby, in a few mins he expects (thousands of forgettable scenes) to see the tiny rugrat on her tit, Ree sitting up in bed with that rosy-cheeked narcoticky post-marathon race look (the thousands of forgettable scenes in everybody’s head)— Hey is it a boy? Dawn says no it’s a girl well can I see her? Let’s go see him! No, says Dawn, her mom’s in there with her now, & just when Jerzy’s going to utter some turdacious words of wisdom, Dawn tells them Reeyonna is dead.

& right then, a nurse brings the baby into the lounge, special circumstances, to show new life where there has been premature death. The nurse smiles as if she hasn’t a clue what has happened. She wants to hand the bawling deal off.

“Who’s the father?”

. .

She went to the car because they told her they were going to clean her daughter up. They didn’t put it quite that way however they were as gentle and tactful as could be hoped for if one had to be told that the body of one’s daughter was going to be made presentable by the sponging of excrement & bloodsweat & the removal of the needles & tubes that violated during her abrupt descent.

Sitting in her car in a hospital parking lot again, that was what defined Jacquie’s lives and her deaths. Sitting in her car she listens to the sound of her breath, observes the rising fall of her breast. She remembers Jeri nursing, the recollection so vivid she suddenly feels the sting of infected nipple, impacted tit. She had both with Jerilynn.

From the parking lot, Jacquie talks to one of the girls at Opening Ceremony. Last minute bday gift, all that. She selects a few promising things by phone, they send some jpegs. She has Jerzy drive over to pick them up: a Rag&Bone, a Lim, a Wang. An Aubry top & Maxi Desert skirt, all earthtones, a raw-edged gray scarf, a Jacklyn dress. Other options: print tie-front dress/open back, cropped boyfriend pullover, silk blend deep V tank w/asymmetric hem/cut-out back. Silk & cotton.

All modest but not staid.

Feminine.

. .

She approaches the shift leader (who of course knows all about the tragic situation) and requests time alone with her daughter. The shift leader of course says yes & please let me know if there are other ways they might accommodate. Jacquie has no intention of telling them her plans.

She gathers the family in the lounge. She tells them about the parish of portraits she’s taken, the baby here, the infant in Arizona. She explains what she wants — what she’s going to do. The ragtaggy dramatic personae solemnly accede without hassly questions, for which she is grateful. Everyone’s in shock anyway plus she’s the tribal chieftress, whatever she says is Word.

She tells Dawn that she needs her help.

She tells the men they will come back for them.

. .

Both fight back tears as they dress their daughter.

Unfathomable delicacy.