Kathy Nelson

WOMAN WITH 23-YEAR-OLD TITANIUM HIPS AWAITS REVISION SURGERY
after Katie Farris

Waiting, bright as a line of mercury, climbs
my spine like a thermometer.

I close the windows, turn on the fan.
Waiting knows how to keep its secrets.

Blooming season now, the rosebush opens
tight buds, unfurls its tender waiting.

I open the refrigerator at 11 a.m., waiting
looks out from its glass bowl, measures

my hunger. It depends on the condition
of the bone, the doctor said. The knell

of that word “bone,” the way it moans
in the recesses of the ear. What remedy?

What stage of grief is waiting? How does
the body practice letting itself be opened?