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POEM: Amputee

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“don’t you miss it?”
that’s always the first question

for so many years
that metal was part
of my body, wedded
to my fingertips

I would wiggle my digits
and the conjured spirits
would wail and cry

“not really” I say
fixing my expression
to sell the lie

I’m an amputee, still
feeling the ghost limb

my appendage sits in a case
that the cat peed on
in the room where
I record the voices
of women and men
who would never dream of
allowing the doctor
to complete the operation

they would leap from the table
shove past the nurse’s grasping
hands, trailing the ends of
their open hospital gowns
and screaming “not that!”
as they plunged through the
double doors into the street

me, I catch sight of it
out of the corner of my eye
feel my fingers twitch

Published in Audio Poems Jazz Music My poems Poetry


  1. Good God, this is beautiful. I can’t even begin to express how much I love this poem.

    • That’s by far the nicest thing anyone has said to me today. Thanks so much.

  2. Corrinne Corrinne

    wow, thank you for writing this poem. it was amazing

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