"Day Three"

Day Three.

And I am moving slower than my Grandfather's dream
   of coming to America
   one hundred years ago.

Slower than the idle of my very patient car,
   which misses me already.

Slower than my shopping cart
   inching down the isle,
   sensing the exact vibration of each and every fruit & vegetable,
Wondering if my body is secretly auditioning
   for a supporting role in my very own Memory Care musical.

On Day Three,
   my virgin body is slowly succumbing to the entropy
   engendered by a (supposedly) mild opiate.
Numbness sliding into white noise in my left ear
   that heard the pharmacist assure me that my dosage
   was quite mild.

Yes, the surgery was mild, minor, and meshed . . .
   impeccably executed,
   with the perfect amount of anesthesia.

Yet, my body was, and is,
   not amused.
Insisting on its very specific point of balance,
   from its particular point of view,
   at the time it wants to acquiesce,
to the Reality of Age and The Age of Repair
   that will mark the unknown remainder of my life.

But really, who's counting?
   I suspect that the real lesson
   is less about Wise Recovery
   and more about realizing that
This Life is Finite . . .
   meaning
   "fine"
        and
         "full of light". 

 

 

April  2024

 

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©2024, Michael Smolens