The morning of the surgery
moonlight is anesthesia and
insomnia: an owl on the ridge
slouches into its voice to feed
the sun. I drink and eat nothing,
not allowed. I whisper a psalm,
and listen for my own health.
While I comb my tangled gray,
I hear a truck across the street.
It sounds too smooth cranking,
sounds like a real dream played
three times before I go under.
I have a few more miles before
I wake. The owl is singing.
About the Author: Clyde Kessler lives in Radford, VA with his wife, Kendall and their son, Alan. In 2017, Cedar Creek published his book of poems, Fiddling At Midnight's Farmhouse. Kendall illustrated the book.