The night before surgery: thoughts and stuff…

Stuff, mostly. Things that came or went or stayed or circled back…in no particular order:

1. My unfinished poems. Technically, what is the status of a half-done poem when life is finished?
2. The first thirteen lines of a brand new poem. Quite unrelated to the situation at hand. Poetry comes when it comes. Even through a canula.
3. One person I wanted to apologize to. From way back before way back. Time moves in mysterious trajectories inside a hospital, dodging right angles and ramps, needles and gurneys.
4. How mesmerizing that infinitely slow drip from the IV pouch is – like an existential morse code. Drip. Dash. Dash. Damn. Drip.
5. Two questions the universe hasn’t answered yet. The universe needs deadlines and then someone to enforce the deadlines. The united nations of forsaken questions.
6. All the people I hadn’t visited when they were in hospital. Karma is a fucking vengeful accountant.
7. All my passwords. To important things. To streaming apps. To game apps. Memorized for potential transfer in the ether.
8. How will people I know who don’t know any one else I know, know if I die?
9. What about the person who gets my mobile number? What if they get the call I am waiting for?
10. The earliest I can go to South Korea is next summer. Maybe it will be beautiful in autumn? Will seasons still be seasons next year? Will next year still be next year? Will I still be I? What difference will it make?
11. Raised voices. Running feet. Wheels. Hums. Clanging of metal. Like the inside of a program. Everything in binary code. [Life. Death.] [Hospital. Sky.] [Tomorrow. Maybe.] [Why. If only.] [1.0.]
12. AK Ramanujan’s poem about the death of his father:
“But someone told me
he got two lines
in an inside column
of a Madras newspaper
sold by the kilo
exactly four weeks later
to street hawkers”

I was paraphrasing, crushing his craftsmanship inside my head. But this is now. No one prints obituaries anymore. No one reads newspapers anymore. But someone told me / she got 17 likes/ and the odd comment/ on an Instagram post/ that an algorithm relegated/ executing quietly / an hour later
13. My mother.