Like Neurosurgery This Charge


or trying to—
I found myself
remembering our secret.
You know,
the one that hides
your gray-templed,
sea-weathered hair.
That question mark scar
where the surgeon
opened a hole to your brain
and its sudden well of
life’s elixir spilling forth.
Neatly sewn up now,
I wonder curiously at
the entry he plumbed,
the leak repaired
by expert hands.
Without like diagnosis,
I have no easy access
to time and memory.
No door on which to knock,
or portal for words—
only patience.
Resigned to wringing drops
of thought onto paper.

• • •

Words ©2013, Jen Payne
Image courtesy of


2 thoughts on “Like Neurosurgery This Charge

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