Day 8 of 30: Global Poetry Writing Month and National Poetry Writing Month
"Bumrungrad Rose"
just before they put me under
I wonder
if they will remember to return my
nosering
if they will allow me to see the
tumors
and if taking them out is more urgent than
the trek
we had planned to the
foothills of
the Himalayas
beside me
on hospital couch
you stay
four nights
covered only with a blanket
behind you
a whole wall of windows
the cityscape of Bangkok
I cannot understand
a word the
funny-capped nurses
say as they glide up and down the hall
in moving shadows
and
probe
my wrists with
needles
in the middle of the night
and my eyes
close and open
close and open
in a haze like a
fish who is
almost dead
then morning
then the sun winking on windows far, far away
rising over the long line of skyscrapers
then you bring me breakfast
speaking a language that I can
finally understand
a single red rose
the obligatory pill
my laptop
today's International Herald Tribune
rolled up neatly
on my tray
© Kat Shamash, April 8, 2016
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