| Home Spring
				2009 Autumn
				2008 Summer
				2008 Spring/Summer
				2008 Winter/Spring
				2008 Autumn
				2007 Summer
				2007 Spring
				2007 Winter
				2007 Autumn
				2006 Summer
				2006 Spring
				2006 Winter
				2006 Fall
				2005 Summer
				2005 Editor's
				Note Guidelines SNR's
				Writers Contact |  
 
 
 Desertion
				
 So
				much invasion, and so little to see–
 in
				a moment you might put on your hat,
 toss
				your newspaper into the fireplace,
 empty
				your waterbottle into the sink.
 You
				might abandon even the remote
 control. 
				Take your shirt
 from
				the back of the chair
 at
				the head of the table. Pack
 your
				dictionary. So little to take
 with
				you. Nothing of use to leave
 behind.
				The empty room full
 of
				your need
 to
				be heard.
 | 
		
			| Zen
				
 I
				was the medical student on orthopedic surgery.
 It
				was a big case: neurosurgery, orthopedics
 and
				pediatric surgery all involved; a child
 with
				myelomeningocele, respiratory compromise
 secondary
				to worsening scoliosis. He lay on his
 left
				side. One group was to enter the chest,
 one
				the back, one the abdomen. The first incisions
 were
				made by general surgery (the abdomen)
 and
				ortho (the back) then anesthesia spoke: dropping
 pressures,
				irregular rhythm, flat line flat line transfuse
 shock
				shock.  Bill Jo, left-handed, four foot ten, stood
 across
				from me, quiet, good-humored; for four hours
 he
				held the heart in his hands, a bag of worms.  Pump.
 Pump. 
				Pump.  I carried warm saline to lavage
 the
				intestines. Neurosurgery never scrubbed.
 We
				stood under the hot OR lamps as fall light
 grayed
				to black.  Bill told quiet jokes in unaccented
 English.
				The first board certified Korean American
 pediatric
				surgeon.  Ortho left. Bill squeezed the heart.
 Again. 
				Again. Competent. Steady.  Gave me a turn.
 The
				faintest stirring movement. That bag of worms.
 Defribulate.
				Jolt.  And it did. On the eleventh try.
 Sinus
				rhythm.  On rounds the next day the child
 sat
				up, CNS fully intact, told us all about kindergarten.
 |