Sunday, April 30, 2017

Sunday Poem

"Minor Excision"

You’ll feel a pinch and a burn
Like the time she broke your heart.
At first the needle feels sharp
You won't forget, but you don't ever learn


My injection numbs the flesh, her
Touch warmed, ignited desire.
I’ll make an island of ice, a frozen slab
In the middle of your roiling magma of fire.
You won’t feel any pain, what you feel is just pressure


I’ll have it out before you know it:
The memories, pain, joy.  The sound of rain
On Saturday morning when you pulled her head to your chest,
When you closed your eyes, felt quiet and blessed.


That wetness you feel is your own blood dripping.
Almost finished, you can stop gripping
The edge of the table---
Your wound is not fatal.
Won’t take long to close it up.
Now it’s gone, a wedge of you floating in a cup.
It won’t grow back, I had the final say
The wound will heal, your scar may fade


4/30/17

2 comments:

Sidney Schwab said...

One of my professors used to say, "Minor surgery is surgery done on someone else."

Anonymous said...

The story of FFL draft day surgery