Image borrowed from TrulyfoolOne by one, another gurney girl,
some waddling the hall to gain gravity,
then lying-in for a few hours of personal gethsemane
They say there're flashes underneath the lids,
gembursts, pain novas betokening new space and time
The métier -- splitting the physical self,
inside-outing at the crux,
doing what's ever been done
like it's never been done, then
Catching the one tune that becomes the other,
childsong lungful of itself
after the lungshriek of the she
And at its denouement,
in the spotlit aureole of the O.R.
or dimmer shine of the recovery tableau
Every one of them a just-now Maryam,
each, for the now, a Queen of H
Trulyfool
Posted over on his site Light At The End Of The Tether
Listed as #91 over on Magpie Tales 45
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