Malaria Poems: Wrapped Up In

“Grip, Coughs, Colds, Bronchitis, Asthma, Consumption, Catarrh, Malaria, Fevers, Chills and Dyspepsia, of whatever form, quickly cured by taking Duffy’s Pure Malt Whiskey.¹”

— 1902

Wrapped Up In

What’s worse? I asked.
Fire brighter. Cold wins.
She drummed words
out between beating
teeth. Body of bone
bundled in the ashes
of her skin then sealed
in the dazzling beads
of needing and sweat.
Her eyes are swathed
in jaundice yellow
but reach like ears
far beyond the bush
to the crushing hum
of the waterfall mask.
A blanket of sound
that hides the way
freezing now has her
heels denting dirt.
Please try to hold still,
the doctor whispers.
Warm rag on forehead
like a kiss too brief
and barely too long.
I am she says as I will.
Birdsong along the river.
A drum signals dinner.
The waterfall explodes.
Chickens cock-a-doodle.
Children laugh loudly.
Please stay still.
She is still.
Children laugh louder.

1. The Deseret News. Ad. 01/21/1902. http://news.google.com/newspapers?id=AQMvAAAAIBAJ&sjid=s9wFAAAAIBAJ&pg=2865,4076960&dq=duffy%27s+malt+whiskey+malaria&hl=en