"Surgical Valentine"

 

Speak from your heart,

my father is listening

his silver instruments

as sensitive

as a lover's ear--

Open, be opened,

like a bride,

to his most tender touch.

His tiny stitches,

his lover's hands,

and you, like a red rose,

scattering crimson petals all about.

He ties within you a lover's knot,

he leaves so gently,

that you may be healed if you wish.

you may feel loved if you wish.

You may let his touch return to you,

endlessly,

in a lover's circle.

 

 

"Transplanting" 

 

On Sunday, in spring,

I dug up a bush too close to the fence

roots thick at first, then feathery.

I planted it deep,

blooms burst already.

Monday's design is as simple as Sunday's;

take a living thing,

dying where planted,

and give it new purchase.

Link veins like roots,

both thick and feathery,

and lay them deep--

blood blossoming.

Close the hole.

Hope for summer.

 

 

"Open, Heart"

 

Through my husband,

in whose hands I am tenderly

unfolded and changed,

I have unmasked and ungowned

my first love.

Through him,

I will be mended.

I can be touched.

I will remember how,

ungloved,

my father once held me.

Gently, with love,

reverse, unstitch,

make undone, let bleed,

Awaken.