One Spring, One Life

Lyrics

You just waited.
In a drawer, in a purse.
Orange cap, gray body.
All that tension coiled inside.
A promise in steel.

I read about your father, Sheldon Kaplan.
How he dreamed you for soldiers first.
Patent 3,910,266.
Filed in 1974.
I wonder how many springs broke in the lab.
How many tests before they knew your tension was true.
A fountain pen clip that never made it to production.
Just this perfect, simple cylinder.
Approved December 11, 1987.
Waiting for a day you hope never comes.

One spring, uncoiled.
One life, held.
A needle's length of time.
The sheath locks over, a final word.
You only had one thing to do.
And you did it.

Seattle. August 12, 2016.
The air smelled of an isopropyl wipe.
Your plastic was warm from my hand. Thirty-seven degrees Celsius.
A moment of pressure against the skin.
Then the plunge.
Not a choice, just a reaction.
Just the physics of release.

One spring, uncoiled.
One life, held.
A needle's length of time.
The sheath locks over, a final word.
You only had one thing to do.
And you did it.

And then you were done.
Spent.
They cracked your housing open in the ER, just to be sure.
Your spring, a straight line now.
No memory of its coil.
The needle, hidden forever behind its orange gate.
Useless plastic and metal.
And the quiet sound of breathing in the room.

They threw you away.
Of course they did.
Your purpose was a single second.
One sharp report.
One spring.