Poem: Dance

Dance

Medicine is dance: the hold and release,
the intuition, the half-light, illumination of
curve and angle. Before each song, each melody,
each figure, I follow the note to the end,
hear it vibrate in my mind.
It is dance before it starts:
impressions, donning gloves, taking a hand
and slipping in that IV.

Dance is the imperceptible nod,
the inflection of facial muscles that say
yes, I will carry you through
and we will awake together
that this waltz will transform me just as much.

It is a menage a trois; the music steps between us
and we move in concert. The monitors sing.
Each beep, buzz, tone, and chime guide my hands,
tell us how quickly to move, remind us
to move gracefully. The floor is crowded.
Each movement calculated and instinctual
as if I knew all along how to keep my partner safe.
The scrub and scalpel whirl by,
but only as close as I allow.