[A personal poem. Necessary context: Galatea of Greek mythos.]
Temporarily, you look in the bathroom mirror,
at your stretched profile,
and the abdomen that holds the right curve.
Straight muscles and soft insulation.
It's time to make friends with Galatea:
"Did you have a surgery too?"
It was a throat surgery.
Temporarily, you have a lilypad voice.
You swallow like a debutante,
taking tiny bites and wishing you had champagne.
Temporarily, you are not allowed
to put bubbles in your stomach.
Some doctors,
they carved out two chunks of your throat.
You wonder where they put
those swollen excised pieces of self.
Apparently you leaked when they cut into you,
letting out the fluid of infection.
Plenty of blood, too.
Temporarily, you can't eat so good,
and you love yourself like a baby.
Therapy is all about
being gentle.
No comments :
Post a Comment