When Your Soul Aches, Remove the Limb. ============================== When you collapsed they called the surgeons, with shiny scalpels and perfect lenses. You told them about the pain in your heart; how it skipped sometimes when we spoke. Surely, such expenditures were corrupt.
The surgeons went in and found my hand had grown permanently attached to your heart. It was making it harder for you to breathe. There was no choice: "We must excise this growth!" Sensitive spots, they said, should not be rubbed, but soothed with ointment and left untouched. "Why don't you concentrate on other things?" So they put my hand into a plastic bag, disposed it with a sea of hypodermics. I had one hand left, to squeeze my own lungs; the other? There would be no practical use. We had always counted on each others fingers. Now when the apples fell into piles by the leaves there was no tug at your heart. "How healthy you are!" they said. When you saw my hand, you sighed with relief: Nothing I could do, would be able to touch you now. The doctors knew a lot about medicine, and how to cure disease. They did not know the foundations of breath; why the air demands to be compressed within the space of your lungs. They did not know, excising your cancer would create in me an amputee, with your hand wrapped around this heart, squeezing harder with every bit of indifference you've learned. I need your air to breathe. -e. _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
