April 17, 2012 / Nobody Remembers Michael Collins by Frankie SanchezResurrect me as a hologram.
There's a tunnel pulling from my chest.
It's so heavy.
The dull hum of lime green lights.
Hospital hospitality.
The dull hum of surgical installations.
This could just as easily be an art gallery.
I remember.
Metal cloth. Sterile light.
I've been under the knife before.
I know none of the surgeons' names.
Somebody got close enough to peel my skin back.
Somebody got inside, while I was high.
And I don't even know his name.
I'm an astronaut in bandages.
Moonwalking.
The hum of watermelon medicine.
Nameless, faceless man gave me cranium scars,
insecurity stitches.
I remember.
Moon landing. White light.
I'm better now.
04/17/2012 Author's Note: If anyone is reading along... I've been writing daily, been bad at getting them onto the internet.
Posted on 04/21/2012 Copyright © 2024 Frankie Sanchez
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