Sunday, December 22, 2013

Of Horses and Hospitals: A Poem

Of Horses and Hospitals

Mechanical bed,
pastel blanket,
five tubes,
FIVE, I counted several times,
falling asleep sometimes between
three and four,
and a clock that didn’t seem to understand
how time works--
it rhythmically destroyed one-thousand-one
to skip or
slide to a sticky halt.

I expected, prayer beads sliding between my
weak fingertips,
a sense of angels,
a rescue by a mystical blue glow or maybe
at least
powerful, thrilling insight...
but no...
only the feel of a muzzle against my hand,
long whiskers tipped with ice,
the nicker of recognition,
fuzzy-coated, mud spattered,
and the smell!
Hay and earthy warmth.

Perhaps at thin places,
all our intellectual practices must bow
before the real heaven
our animal bodies once found,
and carry stubbornly in our bones.


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