Sestina for Bart

He sits stiff as a stalk
In that forest of metal bars
Surrounding his hospital bed.
He avoids my eyes time
After time, prefers the straw
Rooted in soup, the watch

A grandmother gave. I watch
Him grope for it, a stalk
Of fingers scratching his straw-
Colored shirt. Numbers, bars —
The watch is a toy, its time
Without motion like his bed.

He finds it on his bed,
That huge moon of a watch,
Caresses its rigid time,
Listens for the stalk
Of minutes, shrugs. Behind bars
He fingers the orange straw.

His grandmother’s put a straw
Of hope beside his bed
In water — petals, bright bars
Of color for him to watch.
He is four. He has a stalk
Of cancer telling time

Inside his stomach. Time,
Time is an orange straw
Every four hours, a stalk
Of paper brought to his bed,
Or nurses changing watch,
The slip of the moon’s bars

Down walls, the cinnabars
Of dusk, dawn. Sometimes
Time is TV. I watch,
A stranger blown like straw
To sit between bed and bed.
Like wolves the minutes stalk

The still bars of his bed.
One straw of time, one straw:
Each day is a watched, green stalk.