"Still Life"

Digital Image and Poem

By Sharon Carter, MD

Previously published "Spindrift" 2000

The curtains are closed. The room

smells of chrysanthemums

and baby powder. A wet sheet

pastes itself to the bed, drying

slowly in faint brown rings.

The commode is overturned.

Morphine tablets lie

deliquescing

beside an empty glass.

Someone knew he was

not coming back, unplugged

the TV and left.