...An Achilles Resolution...
This has to do with seeing red,
but such is not necessarily a bad thing.
This has to do with knowing that
red originates from deep within you,
but again… not a bad thing.
Oh, of course there's some pain involved,
but it's not too uncomfortable
considering I've a three to four inch gash
in the heel of my left foot. Again,
I'm more mesmerized by the red.
Let's cut to the quick.
It was a boating accident.
The prop. And now
I'm face down on a gurney
in the emergency ward.
Some white smocked intern
has been diluting my heel
with sterile as opposed to lake water and
letting the tainted blood drain
into a small stainless-steel pan.
Chattering away, there comes a point
where he goes to stand up and
one of the buttons on his smock
catches the lip of the pan, there
causing it to pitch up and vomit its contents
down the front of his pure white outer garment.
The empty pan goes clattering to the floor
and from his aghast lips I hear,
"Oh my God!
Oh…my…God!"
And there I am…
A portion of me coating a good portion of him,
and this fluid portion of me is so horrific
that he feels compelled to call forth his god.
There beneath my blood’s baptism
has he perceived
divinity or pure evil?
Tis a dilemma of dichotic moral magnitude.
Here he gingerly steps towards the door
and lifting the smock to contain any
further corruption on my part,
scurries down the hall in a hasty attempt to
rid himself of that which is me.
Another intern, having seen red
surging down the hall,
comes to the door to see that
which is me upon the gurney and
that which is me upon the floor.
From his lips come the words, "Oh shit!"
and I quickly come to realize
my perceived status in this world
has come down a few rungs.
Looking down to my left,
I can see a swath of me
spreading out in a
dark crimson arc across the floor.
How much of that there on the floor
still qualifies as 'is me' and
what quantity now falls under the status of
'was me'?
And then, of course,
how much of ‘whichever’
is simply shit?
Would he have labeled me as such
without some deep personal conviction?
Lying there on the gurney,
I come to realize that through the eyes of others,
that which is me falls somewhere between
the realms of the sacred
and that of shit.
I myself believe I fall between neither.
No. That which is me,
lying there on the gurney,
is perfectly happy to savor the existence of
the here and now,
exquisitely laced with a
slow throbbing pain.
An existential pain,
which though minor,
is steady
and seemingly
without end.
No comments:
Post a Comment