My third surgery

I had that dream about surgery again

where I am strapped down,

the surgeons standing over me 

cutting my belly open.

The difference this time is

I am not afraid anymore.

I actually hope they will find something in me

and take it out.

I hope they will find whatever

it is hiding deep within me and

remove it,

burn it away,

sew me up and send me back home.

There used to be a time when I was afraid

of the surgeries,

of whether or not I would wake up

or if I would die on the operating table and my body

discarded back down in my bed

with my family thinking I’d passed somehow in my sleep.

Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad.

Maybe never waking up from those surgeries

is a favour,

is some sort of blessing.

I’m sure some people think of it

like they would be missing out on a lifetime,

but I would rather die on an alien operating table

than crossing the street and being hit by a car.

I would rather there be a story

than just a twist of fate.

Maybe it is that cynicism 

that I want taken out of me.

Maybe I am dreaming of dreaming of

being without pain,

without that thing buried so deeply inside me that

only an extraterrestrial scalpel

can perform the excision.

Whatever the case might be.

I am not afraid anymore,

not of living,

not of dying,

not of surgery.