Poetry by Darci Schummer

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Into Fluorescence 

At rehab you talk slow
twitch with medication

I clear a cafeteria table
of stale crumbs. We stare

through dingy windows at the rot
of marigolds and chrysanthemums  

Breakfast is best you tell me 
They bring what you want: French toast, 

eggs, orange juice. Your roommate 
is a punk, a junkie, a drunk

younger than you and worse 
for sure. Staff fill your days with talk

of god and feelings. We laugh about it 
like this is high school detention 

not purgatory. I take our photo  
and filtered the weedy sickness

climbing the rungs 
of your body evaporates 

When visiting hours end, I hold you 
until you push away, give me that look

then I hold on a little longer. I don’t care
I would do it again. I would revel 

in the very last before the world spun away 
Before you were left to pale 

beneath the artificial joy 
of fluorescent light

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The Crystal Cave

As a child I toured 
Crystal Cave in Wisconsin 

I do not remember 
so much the stalactites

the stalagmites, the points
up and down, like sharp teeth

What I remember 
is the guide switching off the light

so that for a moment
we stood in total darkness--

black heavens opened upon earth

At 9 am on a Thursday 
I’m in a Super 8 138 miles from home

I learn you died hours earlier

as I had lain inexplicably awake 
in the open mouth of my hotel room 

I turn toward the window and shake
repeat No, a powerless incantation 

as pale light from the room’s dirty window
is snuffed out

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Darci Schummer is the author of the story collection Six Months in the Midwest (Unsolicited Press), the co-author of the poetry/prose collaboration Hinge (broadcraft press), and her work has appeared in journals and magazines such as Ninth Letter (web edition), Necessary Fiction, Jet Fuel Review, Pithead Chapel, and Midwestern Gothic, among other places. She teaches writing at Fond du Lac Tribal and Community College.

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