After the Operation

Posted: December 19, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

My own body has betrayed me,

my cheeks swell like the eyes of fish,

my veins and arteries have reverted

to childish indecisiveness.

I want to run and I want to sleep.

But I am ill.

Have the prescribed dosages

in their plastic orange bottles

done anything for me?

I feel the gashes in the back of my mouth,

I taste blood.

When the needle went into my arm

they were laying me down

and I talked about how I wanted to write,

when I awoke I was in the car with my father

and there was gauze muffling the words I tried to form.

The taste of blood was stronger then.

True, it was a small thing,

removing four pearls

whose heads had just begun to grow

out of the pink sheath of my gums.

Gone in half an hour,

but exhausted for three days.

This aftermath plays with my mind.

Who knows where I’ll be, or what

I’ll be thinking,

when these four cuts heal.


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