Nearly three months after what seemingly should have been one of the most profound and perspective-altering experiences of my life; having heart surgery, and receiving part of another being's heart, I really haven't been able to think of anything to say about it. I feel like I should. But I don't. Seems like a golf ball put on a tea, but has proved quite complicated. First of all, I intentionally remained ignorant to the details of my surgery, so I really don't even know what happened. I didn't want to know. Secondly, it went by the book, and after a few weeks of recovery I feel pretty good.
A few days ago I started writing some poems about how I feel like I should feel. I have inside me the living tissue of other creatures. Some human, some either bovine or porcine. I should probably have more to say about that than this poem can convey...
The Borrowers
Everyone in my neighborhood can afford
Someone else's heart.
Each dawn we lace up the expensive German
Sneakers Chinese children
Assembled for us,
And run Indian style
Through the streets named after
Civil war generals.
The only thing we can't afford
Is conscience.
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Outsider Poetry, web comics, zombie movie reviews, artwork, and commentary on politics, fantasy football, and modern culture by Outsider poet Thomas L. Vaultonburg.
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