for PT
my friend has turned
canary yellow
a fragile whisper
I hang rose quartz around
her neck, pop malted milk balls
into our mouths
across the years this cactus grower
psychic suggested a bone knife
to YES paste collected imagery
a rubber roller to Modge Podge over
collage on a plexiglass
plate and gifted me the lilt of her laugh
metallic Mardi Gras beads
dangle in her stamped photos as we sipped
homemade pear and anise liqueurs
here, behind the plaid curtain
I tape an abstract post-card
to the metal arm of her bed
slip a pillow under her gaunt knees
find a cup for the jasmine I’ve stolen
to brighten this hospice corner
