This is the long week—waiting for the lab
to count the microcosmos of the crab—
the tumor taken from my body while I slept.
This is a timeless time—no plans laid
down to be undone, no promises made
to be abandoned later and not kept.
This is never-never. I’ll never again
be fully healthy in my mortal skin
nor ill inside the space my soul accepts.
I slept through surgery’s urgent gleaning
cosseted in prayer, a transcendent overlay
bestowed by friends. In the intervening
days, I’ve thought about my body’s harsh decay
and wondered at my spirit’s tender greening.
Permission to reprint granted to the American Society of Anesthesiologists, Inc. by copyright author/owner.
2020
