**tw's: mentions of hospitals, doctors, operating room, medical equipment, sh implicated**
you watched me read plath under the dim lights,
turned them off & then apologised. for what, i still don't know
loving, i laid my head close
to your feet,
where paradise is said to be.
you said if i was tired i should go to bed.
i don't think i ever willingly
touched you again. the same sharpness
shines on the scalpel
from the iridescence of the operating
room. a halo for the angel
about to carve me for sacrifice. i lie,
unbothered, having shed my skin many a time,
having been stunned by
moonlight, i
then become heavy in the eyes —
position my arms by my side & begin
the prayer, it's then i lose
my father's hand on my head —
the lung deflates, i awake
with a chest drain. some foulness
seeps steadily out of me. i have to
hold it upright. tears of joy seep out of my mother's eyes.
i am so cold with
a fever too high. they
take blankets away, needing
to be cruel to be kind. i
cannot eat. these incisions are
too small. there was a chance
my sternum would have cracked open —
the chest, an obvious fault zone, ruptured, the self a fault-line,
finally splitting,
creating the erosion
& the eroded either side.
this divide — a worthy burial site.
i would have wanted that pain.
to be ripped apart,
close enough to the heart,
to feel it again.
imagine the foulness that would have seeped through that
lightning bolt of a scar.
it would have
been aligned with the heart, parallel to my spine. the heat from the spillage would have kept me warm
& remained mine.
instead, i have the aftershocks of
my father's touch & frost
embedded in my bones.
my own infrastructure intact, but barely
i took all of the impact, a singular casualty. still,
the breaking of me to try & fix me
is a success. my surgeon grins,
having never expected anything less, eyes
on me, i smile & feel myself under your feet.
the monitor beeps &
i am no longer having to become dust, at least
for tonight, i am allowed to rest, under these harsh lights,
they have to leave them on so apologise.
aching, i lay my head on a pillow,
where i find some warmth to be,
a nurse comes over & sits by my feet.
covers me with blankets
& encourages me to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
body work
Poetry**for fans of plath, anne sexton & ocean vuong** 'body work' is a captivating collection of poetry that delves into the depths of human experiences, exploring the intricate relationship between the physical body & the emotional & spiritual realms. w...
