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News That Stays News
by Peggy Shumaker
Reading to you somber
news
from a friend whose
overheated breast
may soon go its separate
way, friend
begun planning her own
death, organizing
for the rest of us the
aftermath,
my voice closes in.
When I turn
your tears blur through
mine
and we fall together
gracefully as if
we’ve rehearsed these
moves
we’ve been rehearsing
since
we first drew breath.
Calm then, our
breathing,
and you notice, quietly,
“This is going to happen
more and more often, you
know.”
Yes. This from the man
whose scar’s
still sealing, bone
still fusing,
after the surgeon opened
his spine,
snipped off lamina and
drove screws
into vertebrae, ground
up
the cut-off bits, worked
the grit into
bone morphogenetic
protein
packed like putty around
anchors and rods to aid
the body
rebuilding the backbone.
So you will walk without
pain
a little while, your
patched heart,
steel knees,
cadaver-skin
rotator cuff pitching
in,
your torsion-twisted
leg bones aiming each
foot
in its own direction.
Each step one step
closer—each step
one step deeper.
~for my
beloved Joe, on his 71st
birthday, Dec. 28, 2009 |