I gave the surgeon permission
to lift each breast
to check each lower boundary
My gaze fixed on his face,
I feel comfortable with him.
The range of my vision
catches the edges of body
areola too large, mass of flesh
too prominent
as always, numb to touch.
How long can one live
outside the body?
Mystics and magicians find ways
to float, disappear, conjure
things that are not;
hide things that are there.
And I have made parts of this peculiar arrangement of bones
disappear for 45 years
allowing fragments to enter my mind –
limbs, a muscle, face, hair
abstractions I accept as mine.
At times my magic is to slide
into spirit, wear it
like a body, so easily untethered.
He parts each breast to the side;
confirming the aesthetics of tissue,
position of nipple, length of the cut.
I am back to his face.
One can get so used to enduring
to ignoring
to waiting outside a door to a place
you could call home
and wonder
what bleak quarrel with nature drove you out
what terrible
false will of the world kept you there.
I am not a magician,
nor a mystic, a trickster,
an illusionist.
There is nothing special here.
Mostly I am a traveler,
palm pressed on any door,
willing to enter a place
I can call my own.
Anki Sinha
Walk With Me 