The First Day is the Last

She rushed down the riveted steel stairs

clutching tightly

the hope her soul would not slip out from under her

The ground was crisp with early morning frost

fog spread wide

blurring the edges

of where she was heading

This reminds me of Beauty Mountain -

thought took chase alongside her

with the memories of a time

when everything seemed within her control

She leapt the low fence as the bus rounded the

guard station

my first day - will I be on time? -

she thought as she climbed aboard

She did not think of the crew

who also were climbing steel stairs

getting on board

for their first day

How could she know any of that?

It was her first day

at The Happy Trail

a health food store - an open-minded narrow shop

wedged in tight

between the place of excess and entitlement -

its aisles filled with granola, seaweed, and herbs

lined up like soldiers readying for battle

The T ran parallel to the street

so commuters waiting for their train into The City

clustered on the sidewalks

spilled out of cafes with cups of coffee

and the news neatly tucked under their arms

They did not think of the girl heading into the

Happy Trail

They did not think of the four men and two women

on board for their first day on the job.

They just packed themselves

into the tube on rails

hurling towards their expectations, a normal

ordinary day.

The girl wandered the aisles

taking stock of beans and essential oils

and a blast chiller

sitting sentinel in the center of it all

above

a television

showed

the launch

then

a massive explosion

smoke and metal

shoot through the air

like shrapnel

their first day was their last

It was then the room began to twist

the girl bilious with vertigo

clung to one she had not seen before

he walked her down

creaking wooden stairs to the cellar

the smell of mushrooms

and wet newspapers

enveloped her

The girl glanced at the man

her lips part

to speak

words

only an exhaling hiss escaped

as she collapsed

a heap of bones, blood and bile

on the dirt floor

Darkness. Nothing. Slick obsidian oil.

A black hole of oblivion.

then a singular pinprick of light.

Her spirit returned to the flesh container

splayed out on the concrete floor.

I am going to be late for my first day

- she thought as urine poured out.

Where am I?

We have to take her to the hospital - can you carry her?

the man nodded and hoisted the girl

over his shoulder like a sack of quinoa.

The girl could not move or speak.

Her spirit struggled against the restraints of the

container.

It pushed out the edges seeking an opening to

crawl out.

She looked up from the back seat and saw trees,

power-lines,

possibilities rushing away from her

She found herself being wheeled

into the green-walled antiseptic space.

Intercoms, beeps, and cries filled the space

between her ears.

They came at her with scissors

cut off her clothes

White coated strangers swirl like smoke around her

face,

holding her eyes open, shining lights in them,

lifting her arms and letting them fall.

A needle pierces her arm and bandaged

to the loose skin inside her elbow.

Cold fluid flows into her veins.

Sending shivers ricocheting through her body

her spirit oozes down onto the linoleum floor

a hazmat spill to be sopped up with the dingy

dreaded mop

muffled voices grow louder, more distinct

Her eyes rolled around in their sockets

seeking something to stick to.

Then he came - some nurse -

green scrubs no white coat - the uniform of

assistance, not direction.

Slinging an iv bag filled with fluid the color of

mountain dew

the chartreuse flows into her veins

The girl's limp arm hangs

immobile, dangling off the side the gurney

the aid pressed his engorging penis against it.

Pressed then released pressed then released

as he stares down at

the girl who could not move,

whose voice had left with her spirit down the stale

hallways.

She could not move her arm, not turn her face

away

to not see his greasy skin and sweat-soaked

scraggly thin mustache

All she could do was close her eyes and wait for it

to be over.

this first day

Slowly, with the reluctance of one

who knows what lurks around corners

she starts to come to, to again inhabit her body

The change over had taken place

The girl is now in the care of a petite woman

She asks her the mandated questions

Gives her the prescribed orders

Then notices the girl rubbing her arm

Your arm will be sore for a little while

The IV was a little difficult to get in your vein -

The girl nodded and stood up to get dressed

She would walk out

in the same shade of scrubs

as the man whose intentions

still pressed against

her mind.

Was that a dream?

The only thing the girl knew for certain

is that death is not like dreaming.

It is not a myriad of last moment images,

life flashing before your eyes, or a tunnel of white

light.

It is not a sensation of peace washing over you like

a warm wave

or a welcome embrace.

Loved ones are not waiting on the other side

and neither is the underlord of nightmares

Death is a darkness of nothing, 

no feeling, 

no awareness,

endless and without edge.

Deep and consuming and then forgotten.

Somehow she clawed a way out of the oubliette

back into the light of day.

that first day

her first day

working at a health food store

where she passed out

had a seizure

the day the Challenger blew up

the last day

for the crew

the day a man she did not know

took pleasure from her paralysis

she said nothing

what a day

The next morning

of another cold crisp day

with frost covered grass and ice crystalized

windshields

the phone rang

It was the health food store manager

The girl was no longer needed

Her first day was her last

NaPoWriMo 2019  Day 3 

Based on the prompt to write a poem that winds though time

Photo credit:  Stephano Bonazzi The Girl - tHE LAST DAY ON EARTH