Tim is at home resting comfortably--well as much as you can after ACL surgery. Did I mention they took a tendon from a cadaver and put it in his knee? Amazing.
So I wrote this little poem in the recover room waiting to see Tim. It's not very good, but I'm posting it because I wrote it entirely on my phone. In Japan, I've heard that whole novels are being written on cell phones. Who knows, maybe my next poetry collection will be written solely on my iPhone.
Notes from the Waiting Room
Write as if his life depended on it,
as if to pry the sliding doors
open with your pen.
The spine-chilling sound of never
whooshes the air around you
and off he glides, prone,
to the white-walled room of operation.
Oh the terrible stories that rise up
From the floor. The blood, the viscera—
yours, mine, ours. You in there and me
out here. Write, "If you can hear me
reach for the walls."