ALL MY LOVES IN THE OPERATING ROOM

Drizzly April. Must I love the men in white. I must love them. I must trust them like a bride meeting her groom.

Through clanged doors the narrow table, the surgeon with large glasses, the assistant with a jovial laugh, the anesthesiologist with a low hum. Ten, nine, eight.

Time like a rope let loose, rainless August. “Open the door and give me a kiss.“ A child stands waiting. We walk to the park and the ice cream man.