WAKING UP FROM TOP SURGERY IN A SPARSE AIRBNB LIVING ROOM
My breasts are gone.
Orange lights seep through the blinds,
caressing my wife’s face
as she worries the kitchen clean.
The hardwood floor
reflects my new watch, large
face swallowing wrist:
a reminder that I am a man.
My body now a map instead of a globe,
rivered with lines and incisions.
Heavy bandages and compression
protect my newfound flatness.
I am heavy and still with Percocet.
My wife keeps a medication chart
at her bedside; she kneels and washes
my feet with a borrowed cloth.
If I stood, I know I would rise
like a Lazarus in the heat of certainty.