two poems

by Allison Whittenberg

between off and stop

pull the plug means

stop the ventilator from ventilation

but it’s not as quick as flipping a switch

it’s slow like a record player:

off doesn’t mean stop

the disc still circles as it slows

as it stops.

warm

this complex patient

as slimy as the human heart

a feisty one pound baby

arrives eighteen weeks too soon

a strong 500 grams, still warm

from his mother’s blood

he wants to live

that’s half the battle

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Allison Whittenberg is an award-winning novelist and playwright. Killing the Father of Our Country is her latest novel. Her poetry has appeared in Columbia Review, Obsidian, Meridians, Feminist Studies, J Journal, New Orleans Review, and others. They Were Horrible Cooks is her collection of poems.