Here’s my poem for today:
The neurosurgeon called me two minutes early
for a three minute phone call
to tell me Mark needs a fourth surgery
And now I want a fifth of vodka.
Here’s the thing. I don’t actually want a fifth of vodka. I liked the idea of finding something for a five. I couldn’t think of anything else.
Then I shared my poem with Alma, who told me that this would be Mark’s sixth surgery, in their counting.
Adam, Alma’s boyfriend, suggested the first lines could be, The neurosurgeon called me one day/two minutes early.
That’s a good suggestion, right there.
Perhaps this entire post can be one line at a time.
Like a breath in and out.
Today I had Mark at home.
Soon they will take him away from me again.