Medusa in the Emergency Room

Friday, January 15, 2021

On the fifth day of pills, the limestone
stole my eyes. Beneath its scraggle and rasp
              my sight burned senseless. No surprise–

they must want to cure my beast with more beast.
              What could see me like this but the monster of me? By morning

rock threatened my nostril’s edge. They had to break me open
              to let me live. I had no
              mouth to tell them to give back my mouth.
                            The surgeon, wearing a mask,
took a hammer to my mask. My blood babbled forth.

Even a throng of doctors could not solve
              my unsyllabling. Their white coats blurred
bright with the logicless sprint of its spill. Nothing of me would submit
to the coax or command of scab and suture. And yet

              the rest of me kept together–
my stomach’s split too feeble to refuse my limbs
the cradle of a paper gown. My neck resigned itself

              to the tantrum of my remaking. Nothing of me
could rebel the room. It became clear that I was no god. Thank
God. Thank god.

Friday, January 15, 2021