Teddy Bear Surgery

Can you fix it? Solemnly
she displays the half-severed limb. I picture
her in pale green scrubs, me in white,
Teddy on the gurney, button-black eyes
dulled by anesthesia. Our eyes and foreheads
set in anxious concentration or Zen calm-- mouths
keep their counsel behind white surgical gauze.
He won't feel a thing.
He'll be good as new, I say, adjusting the flow of oxygen
through the tube that somehow disappears
into Teddy's black-stitched smile. Scalpel.
Scissors. Needle. Thread. Suture the major veins,
stuff the cotton batting back inside. Nice neat seam.
I hand my patient off to the nurse. He'll be awake
in about five minutes.
Play gently with him.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside