Under the Knife

The surgeon prepares the first knife.
“Have you ever had surgery before?” he asks.

“No, but I have scars enough.
Some you can see.
Some you cannot.

“All of then far deeper
than any scapel you own
with a recovery time measured in years and tears.

“This is nothing.”

So cut away.
join the other scars
in your tale of exorcism,

this one merely physical,
all in the name of healing
and creating a better me,

leaving less
to become more.

About this poem

I have my cancer surgery Monday. I’ll be in the hospital a couple of days, then a couple of weeks at home being a good little boy and doing very little.

As I drove to my favorite diner this morning, I thought about other times I’ve needed help getting rid of things, a broken heart, a broken spirit, a lostness. Each time has had a hell of a recovery time. Each time I came out better for the experience. They were not physical, but they were scarring none the less. This will be same.

The picture was taken in Asbury Park. It has nothing to do with the poem, but I liked it, and I didn’t have any OR pictures to share. This is probably more palatable anyway.

Be well. Travel wisely.  Keep those cards and prayers flowing.

They matter.

Tom