Thursday, August 1, 2024

poem

 Dissolvable

No ma’am I don’t have to take anything out

The sutures that I throw are designed to dissolve.

Any scar that remains has nothing to do with me.

You’ll heal the way you heal, in your own way. 

Years from now, while explaining the wound

To the love of your life, I’ll be reduced to a side

Role in the origin story of your most secret fear 


The nice doctor

Who smiled gamely

When he removed

My boring pain

Stored it safe

In the quiet place

That doesn't change


The good doctors are the ones who shoulder

The heavy eternal ever-here, never-not 

So the rest of us can pass through the transient 

Citadels of amnestic convalescence


8/1/24

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