I have failed to root each time — nothing is home
But for 41 weeks, I was hers, and she is now mine.
Filleted on a platter of surgical steel
With crinklings of stark white sheets
garnish disguised as comfort
harsh, sterile cotton
anesthesia flowing the highways of my flesh
doctors and nurses come to and fro
opening the pomegranate cavern
so that my caged bird can sing
and breathe life
1. the air with which we take in or expel from the lungs like a blown out tire.
2. what we hold when life becomes too erratic and anxiety grips our soul.
3. the action one takes when s/he is about to experience a miracle.
The cardiac monitor, cold and white
rise and fall on a lackluster screen
beeps the voice an aria
Lorelai’s love song
tachycardic no more
a canzonetta sull’ aria
My medicine medicine men
The iambs of the heart
the ebb and flow tempo of an amniotic sea
a harmonious rhythm
like a banyan tree
two souls tethered
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