A Surgeon’s Best
My plump skin feels precariously
thin over certain links in my skeleton.
Caverns where there should be plateaus,
a rib protrudes unexpectedly on an
otherwise padded form.
Sometimes I picture what will remain someday-
Bones and a robotic pile of
Sutures, mesh, and gel,
the flesh melted and
spirit freed.
4 thoughts on "A Surgeon’s Best"
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Your words paint a haunting picture of aging, but I love the juxtaposition of the last line and the image of a “spirit freed.”
YEs, as a “robotic pile” myself, this one hit home.
That closing really hit home. Very visceral.
Thank you all for your comments!