April 2019
j.lewis
jim.lewis@jimbabwe.com
Author’s note: I wrote this poem to marry two different worlds: that of physical healing, and that of spiritual healing. I think it’s one of the best analogies I’ve ever done, poetically.
 
surgical mass

 
quiet hovers in this sacred place
the last vestiges of uncleanliness
scoured away
this morning before dawn
 
a priestess enters unspeaking
spreads the utensils of the first sacrament
with practiced ease
across the twice blessed stand
saving for last
three basins of consecrated water
 
a second priestess enters
nods
and sets about preparing the altar
draping it in layers of holy cloth
reverent attention
to every folded corner
 
a heavy door groans open
as cardinal and claustral converge
hands raised in traditional deference
to those who sanctified them
for this work
 
in a flurry of activity
they are robed head to toe
in heavenly blue
every element of the common world
covered against the chance
that some small sin
may yet cling to them
and falling unchecked
defile the offering
 
the sacramental emblem arrives
prepared and positioned
precisely
 
with an upward glance
at the clock high on the wall
the priest grips his blade
brow wrinkled in concentration
"nine o'clock" he incants
"midline incision
xyphoid to umbilicus" ​
© 2018 j.lewis
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