The pathway through
the spine is narrow.
Sometimes it gets
smaller and crowds
the spinal nerves.
My darling, my love
is in the hospital
with this condition.
The bone in her
lumbar vertebrae
was squeezing.
The surgeon enlarged
the passage, but now
the membrane that
protects the spinal
nerves had been
abraded and needed
to be patched.
Her horizon now
must remain the plain
of a hospital bed,
she can’t even see
the view of the slough,
and the clouds stacked
above the mountain.
The doctor says
that thirty-six hours
should tell the tale if
the patch has sealed
around the cord.
After the surgery
when she was put in
her room, night had fallen
and so I could not drive.
I thought of who I might
call or should I download
the app for Lyft or Uber.
But the need to get there
was more urgent, more
embedded in my heart
so I decided to walk.
With a small flashlight
and my cell phone,
it should be alright,
a walking prayer along
the dark and narrow path.
An act of active faith.
The test was harder
than I expected, most
of the path along the
former railroad is darkened
by tall redwoods and
my flashlight was too dim
to see the concrete
dotted with fallen leaves
from the storm. I made it
to the hospital. The walk
back home was harder.
Sometimes my steps
wandered onto the soft
turf beside the path.
I stopped and found
my way each time
until I reached the lights
of town where the shops
and theater lit the way.
IIn the morning I drove
back to the hospital
and spent the day
with her, helping her
to eat and reading
a story to her about
a giraffe who was ferried
down the Nile and sailed
across the sea from
Cairo to Marseille.
From there she walked
to Paris in 1829, a gift
from the Viceroy of Egypt
to the King of France.
Today my love will see
if she can sit up without
the pain, if the patch
has sealed the spinal leak
and this can be the final
steps to her recovery
and safely home.
