To My Surgeon - by
No-one else sees me
drowning in the white wave
sprinkled with a terrible salt
No-one else sees me
drowning in the white wave
sprinkled with a terrible salt
I’m getting a year of grace
from my year of pain and rage,
my year of famine —
a year to study film
production in Kinshasa
and finally come of age.
The quiet opening
/ between fence strands
/ perhaps eighteen inches.
/
/ Antlers to hind hooves,
/ four feet off the ground,
/ the deer poured through.
/
/ No tuft of the…
Under the wide and starry sky,
/ Dig the grave and let me die.
/ Glad did I live and gladly die,
/ …
Sometimes the recompense arrives
/ so far ahead of what you’ll give
/ that you will fail to recognise
/ the reciprocity, the love
/
/ that circles…
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