Silver Line

Found it in the back, a thin glass tube.

Mercury line, a silver breath.

The kind you shake down, a dull thud,

a small, contained prediction of death.

It brought me back to childhood sick,

the taste of cherry cough syrup strong.

My mother's hand, a gentle click,

waiting for it, all day long.

Three minutes tucked beneath the tongue.

The waiting, eyes half-shut with heat.

That fragile column, finely strung,

reading out my body's defeat.

And then the number, stark and true.

A little rattle when I shook.

Still feels like a verdict, through and through,

that fragile column, a careful look.