May Field’s Grip

Like prisoners or strangers, scattered last coffee before,
For the family, lovers of sapphire, on this eighth floor.

Glimmering hills reflect a stubborn tear, a brother and sister,
Share wisdom, moments before the cerebral twister.

Her legs carry with the others, an announcement is made,
One shares her last, asks had I before gone under the blade?

Surreal conversation I wonder why can’t I stir,
Young and healthy outsider what is wrong with her?

All women, remove their cloth in their named sac,
Sterile ceiling shinning down, feet warm, open back.

Feeling the warmth shoot, her lovely hand on mine,
No worry’s, aligned and perfect, 5000 feet I’m flying.

Life goes black. I know I’ll be back.

Lying in a may field grip, right shoulder backs,
Truth serum injected, open to mask that lacks.

mayfield grip4A face and ears, glass covered eyes that stare,
To my one eye, willingly I chose truth and dare.

My flying body numb, a tugging and drip,
Flowing inside, somewhere, sound of blip,

Hunger of French food fancy, a chuckle,
Laughter from the masks, body in my buckle.

Suspended at the right angle, to doctor’s delight,
Insensitive mass gone, mind’s eye 20/20 sight.

Questioning my feelings, speaking what it is,
Another tug over me, gloved hands are his.

The more I am opened, light’s conviction,
Free into faith, with my might’s addiction.

A three-letter room, stomping metal plates,
Knife-like voices, piercing premium rates.

Throbbing in my turban, moistened by life,
The result of their tool, their microscopic knife.

Familiar touch and I focus for the first time,
Ask for more in my vein, return to sublime.

Hours pass, a bumpy ride through the white,
I float up and down, across the hall, to the right.

Lift my emptiness, in feathers, loveliness alone,
A sanctuary, it’s dark, my womb pulsing groan

Speak, laugh, meditate, I’m poked again and more,
Insufficiency of sleep behind my glass door.

Pain goes white. These colors of my spirit’s delight.

One more scan twenty-four hours after yesterday,
Wires, tubes, blank corridor, lift the nausea, I pray.

He’s nice I think, he will be gentle to my severed self,
Outside, the fresh air is sugar, rolled on this bedded shelf.

And the percussion starts, nothing to shield,
No tears I will, my feelings concealed.

Redundant path, return to my chamber sweet,
Lavender request, raw and shaking, time to greet.

And he asks me to move from my bed to this chair,
A great distance, a real stride, I’ll do it with flair.

I’m quick as before, he tells me to slow down,
Take it easy, not so fast, I hold the back of my gown.

My first step, I’m a baby that’s born, I see,
I hear, taste, touch and I know that it’s me.

 © 2001