Through hardened arteries and granite veins
blood circulates sluggishly, stops.
Consciousness fades and I howl with fear.
Through ghost memories of other times
I see my flesh on theatre table,
with needles and tubes, electronic flickering,
equipment for which I know no name.
Through whirling haze I feel the weight
of hands working on me – I push them away,
“Don’t do that” I say, ” I’m back now.”
Smiles all round.
A true story for Brenda’s Sunday Whirl. I hope others are less gruesome.