When I’m not feeling like my usual
self,
sometimes I pretend your arms can phase
through the computer screen
and wrap around me,
and for a moment, it works,
and for a brief instance I can feel
you pressed up against me,
your warmth easing my aches
and pains,
with you
mending my ribcage I tore
apart days before while trying
to yank out my heart
in fear of feeling too much.

(You’re done up in a doctor’s gown,
elastic gloves and all,
softly soothing me
as you pop my bones back
into place.
I can tell you’re grinning
underneath your mask,
your cheeks flushed pink
as you sew me back up tight,
the strings knotting like our laces.
With all of the equipment sterilized and moved
out of my reach,
you take my hand and assure me
that this fix will last,
and you,
the doctor,
will make sure of it).