Chiang Mai

In his time off my doctor son
forgets bodies,
carves spoons. With surgical precision
he uses his little curved scalpel,
and though the wood is raw
and the shavings fall like leaves
on the floor around him
no blood is shed.

I’m watching the slow reveal:
sculpting, he uncovers
the spoon shape within
the blunt stick that he
used to defend himself today,
chasing away the wild dogs
on his morning run. Now he is renewed
for tomorrow’s long hours
at the clinic, treating the bleeding bodies
and their resident souls.

Luci Shaw

All poems are copyrighted by Luci Shaw.
To be reprinted only by permission of the author.