"Interventionist", Ada Ngo
I have been thinking about that gold
chain around your neck; what charm
dips from the length of it: a crucifix
or perhaps some amulet – as if to say
your hands are kept steady not by
your own volition. To whom do you pray
before the coming & going; before
you eat & when you go to sleep? How
many have you snatched from the brink
of grace? From where did these coronaries
begin: & to where do their tributaries
go? I have been thinking about your neck,
soft, beneath the thin collar of lead. Where
I would rest my hands on your elbows, quiet
your years of interrupted sleep. Here:
Professor, let me –
tell you something you don’t know.