Mine swallowed the dark.
Tonight it’s a blood-red velvet moon,
forgetful of the hour.
Yours is a many-limbed
med-school toy: yellow for valve,
blue aorta, rusty blood
on a wild water ride.
The surgeon is young.
The surgeon is old.
There are so many surgeons,
so much metal,
the shot clock sending its stick
around and around. Shoot,
it says. Air it out.
It says, Nothing ventured.
The heart is every little engine: the cat’s
sure flutter; the great horse
with the hammer inside;
your delicate, rushed, bone-bound
flywheel fresh from the book
of miracles. All
stop in time, watch
unwound, somber moon set
over a quiet field,
bright just hours ago.
Posted for OpenLinkNight #12, dVerse Poets Pub
quite the range in this one...i dont like hospitals...and the unwound at the end leaves me feeling a cool breeze...i really like your descriptors, but this one sticks out "bone-bound
ReplyDeleteflywheel fresh from the book
of miracles"
I like the variations throughout, and my favorite part is this line in the first stanza,
ReplyDelete"Tonight it’s a blood-red velvet moon,
forgetful of the hour"
I thought your poem was beautifully written. Well done.
ReplyDeleteGreat piece, really reminds me of a hospital, which just makes me want to run away..haha
ReplyDeleteA whole new perspective on the heart...
ReplyDeleteBrilliant. Love the medical jargon-y feel, and the many perspectives.
ReplyDeletea descriptive journey here - I sense much worry in the processing of this.
ReplyDeletevery nice! This has a musical quality to it.
ReplyDeletevery well done and full of love and emotions
ReplyDeletehttp://gatelesspassage.com/2011/10/04/memories/
"your delicate, rushed, bone-bound
ReplyDeleteflywheel fresh from the book
of miracles" ... love this
Brilliant write.
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]