Today's poem is by Hadara Bar-Nadav

I Am Neither Surgical
       

nor magical. I am the one who waits in a white
              waiting room and wishes the one being cut

open in his chemical sleep will awaken. A pig
              died for this. Mitral valve harvested, unfixed.

My brother become part pig, part sin. Altered
              and alive. A beast beating inside him. He wears

his severance, scarred navel to neck—tattoo
              of pink violences.

Does the animal live on, does its death? Breath
              born of slaughter and stitchery.

My brother's heart machine beeps green—box
              of brute lightning.

He opens his eyes, asks for whiskey, strawberry
              ice cream, and a pile of baby back ribs.

May pianos line his second life, stringed
              symphony of sutures and ivory.

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Copyright © 2023 Hadara Bar-Nadav All rights reserved
from 32 Poems
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission