Under Anesthesia
As they wheel me into surgery,
I think that I might never wake up.
I tell myself that I will be leaving behind laughter.
I want to be remembered laughing.
I am sad a lot of the time, but my sadness is more private,
I keep it for myself, no one else needs to know it.
How many things might we be remembered for?
So much fades. Maybe a smile will be all that remains of me.
The way I only remember the timber of someone’s voice.
It was the feel of a bean bag chair that stays with me
when I think of that friend’s living room and our talks.
It was long ago, before she died, and I lived on and on
through decade after decade in an assortment
of other houses, towns, relationships.
My image of her is as faded as a fifty-year-old photograph.
I have no idea why now I think of her and all those lost
before their time, before old age claimed them.
It feels like only an instant has passed when
the anesthesia wears off and they are calling my name
bringing me back to a room where I will soon stand up,
walk out and head home. I will be free.
Free to live for some additional amount of time.
Time to laugh and to suffer.
Time to fill up with stress and sweetness.
Time to begin and end one story or another,
to create, accumulate, participate, and wait.
Opening my eyes to faces, to seasons, to all
that is familiar and all that is still unknown.
Author: Madlynn Haber
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