The Anaesthetist
His
kindness
pieces me,
gathers the strewn
shattering sepals
when I'm scattered to storm;
tries to place me soothingly
beyond iridescence of tears
and fears I must transcend, becoming
the tranquil trellis to which I now cling.
He promises to give me all the time
I want and need, when I'm fragmenting
to seed, sky-tossed above gardens
glazing with grief; a bower
of what is left to bleed...
Piecing me with care,
peaceful within
the arbour
of his
calm.
Copyright © Charlotte Puddifoot | Year Posted 2023
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