Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Nothing personal

the doctor had worked for years and years
perfecting surgical skills, learning new procedures
mostly succeeding, sometimes failing
always trying

the early years of education:
the keen interest in the body
the hours of study, the tests
the seminars, the lectures
hundreds of hours devoted to this quest
those hours becoming thousands 
and on and on and on
working always
to become a doctor

my brother had heart surgery:
the surgical team opened up his chest
gave him a new offramp
(or was it a double by-pass?)
they fixed a valve that got stuck
he's resting now
a tube going down his throat
like the tendril of a loving insect

the message comes in the afternoon
from a well-meaning relative:
"thank the lord he is okay!"

no, i say nothing
though i think the expression is empty
a potato chip that stays crunchy
for centuries

when i eat dinner
i thank the farmer
who is god
and you are god
and i am god
who is god if not everything
including the doctor?
including the patient?

including the man who will walk
into the west 
waving to the sky
his heart beating
to the rhythm of the universe

ba-bum, ba-bum, ba bum



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