retorts a poem written on the thirteenth day
of the penultimate day of the month:
feeling fine, feeling remarkably fine
and I’m trying for a re-birth
at what should be, probably is:
close to the end of a reasonably long life.
Earlier in the year an attempt was made
to insert a stent to my heart. Thinking one,
they found two, the more recent
quiet small: and dealt to it: went on
to the larger one. The patient (myself)
watched them as they worked. And
then the nurse leaves her monitor duties
and comes to my side.
I have little recall of her words
so soon, as they say, I was out
like a light; inserting wires had
snapped, not once but twice.
There followed an emergency retrieval.
Next morning the little surgeon
came to my bedside; and said
“I may never touch you again.”
And though I struggled with
that deep cobbled wound in the groin and what
is called “referred pain” in my shoulder:
(strange as that may seem.) I’d
screamed and moaned. And later
I would think “And maybe I just
will not let you touch me again.”
But I’m determined and I’m hopeful.
I live in hope.
I am determined
to heal, alter diet, exercise.
I don’t regard myself as desperate;
but I’ve heard of vegan miracles.
Each day I chip away
at what I regard as my re-birth.
How far will I get! Only time will tell.
This is the pen and the thoughts
of a forever optimist.
It’s near the end of the year.
A new year is waiting to be born;
feeling fine; feeling remarkably fine;
metaphorically young in heart & mind,
I’m working on some re-birth.
Benita H. Kape (c) 13.11.2019
This poem is shared in dVerse https://dversepoets.com/ Amaya hosting has requested poems on the subject of birth.