The Nothing Hours

Ask me what happened

when the anesthesia hit, my lungs

were stopped, my heart was
silenced, and I will tell you nothing.

No tunnels or bright lights;

nothing to remember.

No outstretched arms or

family members long gone;

just my imagination,

a sketch of my body

stretched across a table. Of bright lights;

drips, hisses, bleeps; and steady, gloved hands.

Yes, that's right:

No, I wasn't there.