4 Etchings

This entry is part 23 of 41 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2012


They made the inch-long incision
at the center, where they stuck a set
of surgical wires like crosshairs,
one on each side of her right breast.
Because they insisted on clarity,
clarity, clarity, one procedure
led to another, and another.


We could not tell what he mumbled
into the ear lowered near his mouth:
the attending physician simply put
her clipboard away and bent her head
in silence. Later, his family and friends
were surprised to learn he had no will—
though he had drafted many as a lawyer.


In the recipe book, bata las claras
a punto de nieve
means to whisk
egg whites until they form soft peaks

useful when one is attempting to make
a merengue, or a pavlova, upon which
handfuls of fruit might be strewn.
To get it right takes some
practice, some experience.


There is a forecast of frost,
and later, pellets of icy rain.
I am thinking it may be a good
day to stay indoors, the shredder
humming at my side, turning drawers
full of documents into so much chaff.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← PreludeIn One and the Same Moment →

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