Duke Medical Center, 1999
1 Minute Read Time
In the evening, my dad walked with me
through Duke Gardens,
past Carolina jessamine,
the common dogwood, blue anemone—
nameplates declared each one a worthy specimen.
Since his death, I remember all the free
ice creams I got (an eye patch on a cute kid)
when he brought me here after surgery.
On the table, I was singular, surrounded
by surgeons who, to save the eye, would experiment.
From home, the trip to Duke was three hours,
both ways, sometimes twice a week, for new treatment.
Does it matter now that we lost?
Under the bower,
we studied the maple’s leaves as they fought
an ordinary strain of heartwood rot.
Read more from Issue 18.2.
