On Writing

With humility I place that scalpel
onto the tight skin of an unfeeling subject
and drag so that first line of black blood
appears.
I enter a world unknown
and learn the story of the subject.
A swollen stomach for greed,
A crushed heart from pain,
A personal history just waiting to be discovered.
Yet I know that I can't stay long.
Every subject must be closed,
not matter how much we want to explore.
So with the same scalpel, my only tool,
I sew up the subject and send him away.
He will still be there tomorrow,
and the following day
and every day after.
He sits in a green-walled ward,
subjects recovering to his right,
subjects waiting to his left.
And where am I?
I am here, telling their stories.
I am there, still searching each subject.
I am with them, and they are with me.
Always.