Sunday, July 17, 2022

poem

 Op Note XXVII

Excisional surgery is fairly simple. Quick case. Twilight anesthesia.  Clean, dry, well approximated.  For lumps and bumps. Unsightly bulges, infected cysts.  The things that don’t belong.  That I can’t live with anymore.  Always reaching around and rubbing it.  The dull ache in the middle of my back.  The seeping wound in the center of my chest.  Extirpate it.  Get rid of it.  The lump in your throat that no one else can see.  But I’m worried if I cut it out I won’t feel anymore.  That I’ll start to forget how it felt. That I won’t be able to speak. That I won't feel anything ever again.  Even the things that ache.


7/17/22

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