A doctor

Anne Manuel, Premed

     			
A doctor on the battlefield
Scrubs up, puts herself 

	In check.
		Because each heart is 
		a purpled onion,
				a prickly cactus
				that has no drink.

	The problem is
		she thinks she's the 
		scalpel, able to 
		dig in there herself.

	She swims
	in someone's blood
	venomous and clotted
				
				Her heart rattles
				Inside a ribbed cage
						too small.

			What can one do but
			hold it in?
		
		The heart:
		just a time, and place.
		A raisined event. 

		If she thinks of it this way,
				will she cut it right?

		If she cut it right,
				Would she have cut her own,
				in two separate pieces, left and right
				folded to fit the cage?

						For to expand, is there room, or a			freedom to rupture?

(inspired by Adrienne Rich "Dien Bien Phu")