sometimes as the scalpel bites down
i apologize to you. a half-starved
football, malnourished from birth
did you ever know what it is not to
fight at every moment?
and now you lie here. warily we examine you
not daring to probe too deeply. we have
yet to acclimatize, that’s all. soon
we’ll be ready to make an incision
stripping away cotton-quiet connections for
the chill glass of smooth muscle beneath.
days pass. every day makes it easier. soon
we ready ourselves in a moment, gloves and
lab coats and smiles. in a week
we no longer cover your eyes with a mask.
sometimes as the scalpel bites down
i wonder at us. now experts, we glide
scissors in hand, paring and probing with ease.
but when exactly did we sever you
from ourselves? when did you become nothing more
than an arm, a leg, a prone sum of parts?
stripping away cotton-quiet connections
for the smooth chill of silence beneath.