Drowning
After “Snowdrops” by Louise Gluck
Do you know how it was, how I awoke?
You know what it is to forget to breathe.
Drowning does not require water, I know
this now. The doctor said I might not live,
so it was a surprise, awake again,
flesh raw and opened from the surgeon’s knife.
My nerves, electric, responding to pain,
terrified, but next to your hands and eyes.
My chest is a butterfly, wings unfurled,
plastic tubes dangle like jewels from my chest.
Drowning does not require water, I know
this now. The doctor said I might not live,
so it was a surprise, awake again,
flesh raw and opened from the surgeon’s knife.
My nerves, electric, responding to pain,
terrified, but next to your hands and eyes.
My chest is a butterfly, wings unfurled,
plastic tubes dangle like jewels from my chest.
There is something I feel on my temple,
an unknown wound that lies beyond my reach.
My arms have been made useless, tied and bound.
These are new waters; I will learn to swim.
an unknown wound that lies beyond my reach.
My arms have been made useless, tied and bound.
These are new waters; I will learn to swim.
Torso with Lights -- Alexiares
Snowdrops
ReplyDeleteDo you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn’t expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring—
afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy
in the raw wind of the new world.
--Louise Glück