The swell of a drug in her eyes like silver-
speckled round gray Christmas-bauble glass;
the talk-talk-talk of anesthetic wearing off;

the dragging legs; the shallow breath; the way
she holds her lips, a half moon-Mother
carries herself from the operating room

like an ant with twice its body weight borne
across its back: sure, victorious, unbreakable.
Back home, she swallows two Percodan tablets,

an antibiotic, bites of sandwich & two sips
of Coca Cola. She lies down, head straight &
high on half a dozen pillows. Doctor's orders.

Pride milks her face of its suffering,
filling jugs that swell her cheeks red.
Drunk on need for rest, an enchantment,

she radiates sunsets, an animate façade:
she is safe from wounds that have not
formed their scars upon her yet.

Ace Boggess