by Joyce Schmid

I wasn’t blurred as I had hoped to be,
but wide awake beneath the lightheads
as the doctor and the nurses worked.
Mostly no one spoke above the crackling tunes,
but now and then I heard,
“I can’t find this” and “Where is that,” –
an ordinary workday, as I lay there open,
intimae alarmed by light.
They wheeled me out
and checked me off the schedule
as if nothing unbelievable had happened
in that ordinary room


Joyce Schmid is a mother, grandmother, and psychotherapist living with her husband of over fifty years in Silicon Valley California. She continues to practice as a psychotherapist, and in her spare time, has become consumed with a passion to read and write poetry.

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