Haikus on Surgery

by William Lain

I. The Opening Cut

These haikus focus on sterile spaces, anticipation, incisions, and the strange beauty of anatomy.

Under LED glare

diseases carved in flesh,

silence holds their name.

They lay draped and prepped.

Life reduced to a timeout,

A single moment.

Steel shines in still hands.

Breath held by all in the room.

Cut, and time begins.

Bovie sings in hand,

tissue opens, paths revealed,

bright red hope flows by.

Blood dries on the drapes,

Iron scent clings to my mask.

Sterile, but not clean.

Crimson highways split,

supplying limb, gut, and brain.

Existence from flow.

Arteries uncoil.

Red ribbons beneath the light,

grace in every curve.

Fogged lenses above.

Foggy vessels far below.

Both need to be cleared.

Silk ties like soft notes,

delicate music of care.

We dance through the pain.

The final stitch in.

Stillness stretches over skin,

but my heart still runs.

II. The Flood

This sequence captures the visceral, physical chaos of bleeding, trauma, amputation, and rapid response.

Tourniquet tightens,

a silenced crimson tide awaits.

We are on the clock.

Saw meets flesh and blood.

Drenched in red, I pause for air,

I don’t make a sound.

Saw meets rigid bone.

Vibrations test retraction.

I have to hold on.

We hit a vessel,

blood sprays the room, and I flinch,

“Put a finger on it!”

We hit another,

and a sudden rush of blood.

“Quick, suction!” Don’t think.

Lap pads and Ray-Tecs,

no time to ask for more, just

keep the rhythm tight.

Finally, a break.

A pause in motion, we sigh.

“Enough, let’s move on.”

The drapes go away.

The team disrobes and walks away,

but I hesitate.

III. The Wipe

A recurring phrase - “I wipe my hands off” - anchors this collection.

I wipe my hands off.

The echo of blood remains

somewhere on my chest.

I wipe my hands off.

Another life sewn halfway,

still, no time to think.

I wipe my hands off.

Nothing left but steady breath

and what we don’t say.

I wipe my hands off.

Gloves removed in silent pause.

Stillness after storm.

I wipe my hands off.

Not all stains are visible—

Some remain unseen.

IV. Vascular Truths

This collection explores the complexities of vascular surgery.

Stop smoking, I plead.

They nod, then light up outside.

Stents only hold so much.

How far can you walk?

They shrug, decades spent in pain.

Plaque builds without shame.

Aneurysm swells,

unknown even to the patient,

until it breaks free.

Bypass curves its arc,

rerouting the flow of life,

blood obeys design.

A graft pulses firm.

Plastic made to mimic flesh.

We cheat death again.

A scar down the chest.

Each stitch holds some history,

“See you in six months.”