poem

Sea Anemone

The surgeon pulls on his scrub pants in front of the mirror.

His fingers rapidly loop the orange drawstrings 

Together in a cinching knot.

Now imagine it’s just his fingers—

No scrubs, no hospital, no arms, no body. 

Just fingers cutting deftly through the air in cryptic choreography. 

Now picture a sea anemone in a reef, its tentacles slowly 

Jazzing to and fro in the invisible ocean current. 

Try to imagine what it might be tying.

10/16/23