Postsurgical

I may have

spit out cancer like a cherry pit

been sewn back together

with brambles and thorns

sprouting leaks whenever I drink,

But I'm not as tough as you might think

I may have

dragged myself, broken,

inch by mile through boiling ink,

or worse yet,

quit smoking,

But I'm not as tough as you might think

I may have

survived a bone-shattering fall

from a blithering height,

Banished Satan himself from the edge of this life,

held my own pale candle

through the blackest of nights,

Said my wordless good-bye to all I hold dear.

But there is one thing I could not conquer:

My fear.