Minimally Invasive:
poems on a life in surgery
by Maria Basile, M.D.
The Widower’s Lament
My skin falls off in ashy scales.
The one who used to smooth the balm,
on patches rough, too quick
is gone. She was my wife.
She was my nurse. She was my life.
She knew the tools I had to learn.
She placed them in my open hand,
a clap of steel on rubber glove,
even before I could ask.
I learned to name them, every one,
the clamps, the forceps, scissors, too.
I learned the moves to wield them well
against disease and illness both.
Once learned, I never had to ask.
The open hand was all it took,
the instrument was there.
Now the empty hand must ask,
Metzenbaum, where is my life?
Richardson, where is my nurse?
Sabiston, where is my wife?
My skin falls off in itchy scales.
and she, who would have known
just what to use
is gone.
Too slow, too slow this turn
From rashes into dust.
Table of Contents
Anastomosis
Nick
Calling for the Knife
Minimally Invasive
So Good
Love Poe
I Didn’t Hear
Late Summer Chemo
Euterpe
The Bottle
Professional Courtesy
Losing Her
To Sylvia
No More Sullen Art
Goodnight Womb
Bedrest
Vacation
Widower
Pushcart Nominations
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The Lives You Touch Publications
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