Cherry Blossom Storm Poem by Henri Cole

A mother is a mother still,

The holiest thing alive.

Coleridge, "The Three Graves"



"Draping my body in the usual sterile manner,

they placed me in a supine position and adequate

general anesthesia was obtained. Then a collar incision

was made at the base of my neck and the strap muscles

incised, the dissection continuing sharply over

both my lobes as inferior vessels and veins

were isolated, ligated, and divided, the cut surfaces

like a cherry blossom storm, except for a small amount

of beefy red identified at the pole. Awakening later,

I heard a voice muttering: Don't worry about adultery

(he sleeps in a different room). Don't go down after

midnight. Don't take tranquillizers. Don't love. Don't hate.

Sometimes, the paralysis of a soul awakens it. Sometimes,

awful things have their own kind of beauty."