Four hours of total oblivion;
nothing moved, not a second ticked
in that blank with space-time undone
...
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...hold a lit cigar, sandwich, or coffee to his/her (the doctor's) lips. Well, I REALLY did work in O.R.s, but it was actually very professional. The nurses only served diet soda! ! : )))) Apparently YOU survived. Good. ;) bri
MN, I worked for a while in a surgery, handing instruments etc. to the doctors. Of course I had some leisure time when the headman (or woman) would have a nurse.....(cont.)
This a poem of such depth that I'm having trouble fathoming it! It's not the first time I've been struck somewhat (not completely) clueless by a poem. (cont.)
Very nice poem of reflections and looking back on medical circumstance when one really is nothing but a bundle of inactive flesh and bones. Still I suppose something is there deep within us storing all those experiences under the anesthesia.
Thanks a lot for the comment. Yes, there is something that remains and that truly we are is what the poem trying to say.
p.s. For those unfamiliar with my wit, I DID fib/lie a bit above.