thin
(anorexia)
the
narrow
puddles
of
her
eyes,
the
sunken
garden
of
her
skin,
the
marrow
of
her
memory,
draped
in
a body
too thin.
The Madhouse
Somewhere in the catacombs
of the hospital, a man puts
his head to the wall, the taste
of metal in his mouth. Another
shivers and folds inward atop
a gurney, knees to chest, under-
neath a razor-thin blanket. Still
another claims to see Seraphim
twinkling inside tiny cracks
along the ceiling tile. And the nurses,
those phosphorescent angels,
flirt with the orderlies, who hum
Spanish love songs through
the hallways, melodies that talk
to us with the tenderness
of a whisper. All the while,
a spackle of purple light dies
outside our locked windows,
and I look out upon the courtyard,
to the garden, the din of a late
winter’s snow burying those blooms
begging to touch the sky.
David R. DiSarro is currently an Associate Professor of English at Endicott College in Beverly, MA. His work has previously appeared in Rogue Agent, The Rye Whiskey Review, Neologism Poetry Journal, Bending Genres, The Rome Review, among others. David's first chapbook, I Used to Play in Bands, was published by Finishing Line Press, with a second chapbook, The Overnight Shift, forthcoming in August 2026.
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