The Process
“Don’t touch that!
It’s sore!
I’ll be fine, I’m ok”
I’m convincing myself
As I wince pain away
He looks in my eyes;
“it’s a really bad break, there’s plenty of damage
But if you trust me on this, I know we can manage
We’re going to fix it, we can there’s no doubt
But I’m afraid there’s no drug for this, we can’t put you out
Numbing the area won’t help, not at all
That’s a really big break from a really big fall
You’ll have to endure, just hang on while we work
Here, hold my hand, it will help when it hurts”
I feel unprepared for what’s about to unfold
With the exception of having this warm hand to hold
But how on earth do they fix all that’s wrong?
How do they know where the pieces belong?
I’ve been limping for years now, it’s not been so bad
Did I even need this? I begin to get mad.
Mad at myself for falling at all
Mad at my doctor, despite His house-calls
As they move things around I begin to react
I seize and I twitch, muscles expand and contract
I want to give up, and leave the operation
But his hand is still there with unwavering, dedication
The hours drag on as the surgery continues
As they sort and repair my tendons and sinews
I’m starting to wonder if they’re doing things right
I’ve been screaming in pain for most of the night
The pain has now spread from my foot to my head
And everything in between, I’m surprised I’m not dead
My lungs are exhausted, from groaning and screaming
My muscles are limp, and my sweaty skin gleaming
‘it is finished’ he says looking back to my eyes
I feel my leg, and from laying, I rise
I perceive re-creation it looks good as new
I turn to Him to offer a quick ‘thank-you’
But I stop.
He’s wounded, his hand pierced and bleeding,
His side, has been sliced, He’s taken a beating!
‘Oh those’ He smiles noticing my inspection
‘That happened while you wriggled in every direction
While you fought so hard to maintain your imperfection’
He cleans himself up wiping blood from his brow
From his hands
From his feet
From his side
He doesn’t have to say anymore, but I see
In his eyes tremendous passion…
For ME!
WHY ME!
Why this broken, lost sheep?!
This prodigal son
For whom no one would weep
I lift up my head and lock with those eyes
Then open my mouth to apologize
But he knew my words before they were on my tongue
And he speaks first, steps close and says; ‘Son,
I knew this would happen, and I know that you’re sorry
Just remember to mention me when you tell others this story’
‘I will’ I say without thinking, but I know
That I’ll be back here again with more wounds to show…
-2014
