POETRY
      Jillian Pattinson — 'Vessel'

Toward the end, she cries out—
I am not ready! Not yet. Now now …
But the vessel has already taken shape
and only makes sense
in a state of containment—filling,
welling up, overflowing or spilling.

Daylight lowers her eyelids,
so he draws the blind. Later, she takes
to waking at night, to darkness
and disorientation—
Where am I! What time is it?
Is there anybody there?

Now the nightlight must hold its own—
this globe, this filament,
this illuminated shade with its tenuous cord,
a patient monitor and a small moth
circling the glow, hovering over the switch
as it completes each circuit.