hospital healing

of course a two-inch badger 
carved from liver-colored stone 
with arrows bound to his back, 
could not make the difference. 

the day i brought him, you couldn’t
talk, the next, weaker, yellow, 
you gasped your question, death held
your other hand while i bluffed. 

the badger, i said, travels the dark
world below, then surfaces again; 
(later i learned he oversees healing.)
you watched him, you tell me now, 

like a reddish star in a poisoned sky.
home now, in a bright pink sweater,
you claim at last, dazzling me, 
not the badger, but your own life.