Recovery Room Before

“I’ll come for you when we’re ready”

and with that the plump grandmother nurse

is gone leaving behind only two swinging doors.

Substantial enough evidence

that she, in fact, was real. 

Alone. Silence. I stare

into my own frenzied eyes.

Lazy light from fluorescents stammer.

And inspire unhinged shadows

across my face to dance. 

As instructed, I struggle fitting

tissue paper over my ears, around

my sneakers.  Now, head to toe.

Baby blue. 

All around me steel shines and snarls.

Crisp bed corners mock me.

As orange-peel chemicals attack

my nostrils — pillage my tongue.

And all the while my trying toe taps

And tries tap tapping time away.

“A prayer then?”      

But we don’t…

“Perhaps a plea.”      

Perhaps…  Yes.

Everyone has to be all right.

Please.

I’ll never ask another thing.