Bleeding

Bleeding black ink

I spill words as my body leaks blood

On hospital gowns

Inking the floor with my essence

I wonder if the OR staff made wishes

When they cracked open my breastbone

I remember long ago dinners

When wishbones were mysterious

Full of promises

Like wishing wells and shooting stars

Imagining untold fortunes of vague and impossible hopes

Now, I no longer feel the need to wish

Just cope

Taking each step in faltered stride

Wearing the determination of my years

And while I’m grateful for the good wishes of others

I have no expectation of magic

Or celestial intervention

Just faith in a good defense

And the resiliency of my own spirit

 

 

David Trudel         ©  2013

 

 

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2 Comments

Filed under Cardiology, Poetry

2 responses to “Bleeding

  1. I wonder if the make a wish or if it is the standard wish that the patient recovers, your words make me think of you laid not on the operating table but on the christmas table with laden platters all around as the surgeons in scrubs and hats from crackers lean over and operate (yes I have issues but who doesn’t lol)

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