Breath & Shadow

Medical Journals (a triad of poems) by Kristin Roedell

Surgical Valentine

Speak from your heart,
my father is listening
his silver instruments
as sensitive
as a lover's ear--

Open, be opened,
like a bride,
to his most tender touch.

His tiny stitches,
his lover's hands,
and you, like a red rose,
scattering crimson petals all about.
He ties within you a lover's knot,
he leaves so gently,
that you may be healed if you wish.
you may feel loved if you wish.
You may let his touch return to you,
endlessly,
in a lover's circle.

Transplanting

On Sunday, in spring,
I dug up a bush too close to the fence
roots thick at first, then feathery.

I planted it deep,
blooms burst already.

Monday's design is as simple as Sunday's;
take a living thing,
dying where planted,
and give it new purchase.

Link veins like roots,
both thick and feathery,
and lay them deep--
blood blossoming.

Close the hole.

Hope for summer.

Open, Heart

Through my husband,
in whose hands I am tenderly
unfolded and changed,
I have unmasked and ungowned
my first love.
Through him,
I will be mended.
I can be touched.
I will remember how,
ungloved,
my father once held me.
Gently, with love,
reverse, unstitch,
make undone, let bleed,
Awaken.

Kristin Roedell is a wife, mother, and retired attorney residing in Lakewood, Washington. She has been writing poetry for about a year, and is currently working on a poetry portfolio for application to a Masters in Fine Arts program. She is bipolar, and cares for her bipolar teen, who is also a writer.