poem

 Parts of SpeechWhat kind of word is love?Is it a noun, something we point To like a tree or a bird,The first cresting of a winter sunrise?Or is it just a sterile abstractionSumming mysteries we couldn ’t describe otherwise?There are those who say love is actionThat it must be understood as a verb.Holding your hand in the darkLashing you with wet spaghetti When you ’re trying to stir the sauce A glass of bourbon waiting for when you get homeAfter the boss forgot to give you a break.It ’s showing up, every single day. Bringing you coffeeFlowers at work Belting out Sweet Carolinein the showerBut substituting your name.Being there at the finish line Never looking through youAlways having time  Letting you beA series of acts that becomes a way of lifeAnd near the end it stops moving so muchAs everything else slows down.Less is needed, less is done.As things stop happening, a world takes shape. It becomes a noun again, a proper nounWith a capital LLike a person with a nameThat can only approximate the totalityOf all the things doneOf everything we have touched Of all we have left.It isn ’t close to being enough.But I can whisper your nameAs you snooze against my chest.Some things must be named to be knownNo matter how paltry the parts of speech.We do the best we can.We wait for the sun to pause its dawn ascentFor the clocks to momentarily stopFor a world rife with too many nouns and verbs To dissolve into a wordle...

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - February 9, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs