Restraints

Victoria Crawford

sometimes awake, I watch the clock
with 13 hours
counterclockwise,
wall paper twists horizontally
waves on beach,
they roll me on a gurney
my eyes cross white ceilings
cracks pursuing,
needle punctuated arms—
I pull them out—
so,
four point restraints at every corner
I try to chew them off

a voice I know whispers,
"the anesthesia will wear off, honey."