Heroin had been as sweet as sex
she used to say, at one time.
The doctors have been saying now she won't get worse,
to go day by day, take things easy.
It's been a month since she failed to wake up
after the last operation.

Still and all, we go every day to visit her
in Cubicle Six of the Intensive Care Unit.
Today we found the patient in the bed before hers
in tears, no one had come to visit, he'd said to the nurse.

An entire month and we haven't heard a word from my sister.
I don't see my whole life stretching before me the way I did,
she used to tell us.
I don't want promises, I don't want repentance,
just some sign of love is all.

Our mother and I are the ones who talk to her.
Our brother, with her, never said too much,
and here doesn't make an appearance.
Our father hangs back in the doorway, silent.

I don't sleep nights, she used to tell us,
I'm afraid to go to sleep, afraid of the bad dreams.
The needles hurt me and I'm cold,
the serum sends the cold through every one of my veins.

If I could only escape from this rotten body.

Meanwhile take my hand, she implored us,
I don't want promises, I don't want repentance,
just some sign of love is all.