by Elaine Edwards
Need look no further for an example of their craft.
They could take my skin and hold it aloft
“Look – see that appendix scar? Clear evidence of 1950s tacking.
And the chin and the knee? Herringbone for sure.”
I imagine the murmur of interest
as they lean in to see, in a difficult place,
the tiny running stitches of an artful gynecologist,
the alarmed gasps as they gape at the huge, ungainly blanket stitch
covering up the bite of cancer.
They will smile, however, when they see my hand,
which, courtesy of an encounter with a very large vehicle,
offers perfect French knots.
But no stitch in their lexicon
can repair some objects left unsewn.
Brain and heart.