ELEGY FROM A CHICAGO BATHTUB

(featuring a borrowed line from David Berman’s poem “Serenade for a Wealthy Widow”)

there are paramedics
in the belly
of the lobby, carrying a body out
                on a stretcher.

the water in this bathtub reeks of bleach.
                my eyes have turned copper like the loose pennies

crawling out of my wallet on the linoleum.
i am no good at survival.

                                i’ve been in this bathtub so long
                                my skin
is starting to redden & itch.

from her window-side bed,
                 while watching downtown bloat

with ambulance lights,
                                                 my mother calls my name

                                  to see if
                                  i’m still alive,
                                  & i say yes,

like i am here & i am still here.

Matt Mitchell is a writer from Ohio. His work appears in, or is forthcoming to, places like The Boiler, NPR, The Shallow Ends, Okay Donkey, Vagabond City Lit, and others.