Epidural

photo by B. Ekaterina

You sit perfectly 
still with your spine 
bowed open, each section 
of vertebral bone exposed, 
aligned with the tissue 
between the sections, a clean 
site. They drive this needle, 
long as your grandmother’s 
crochet hook, the one your mother 
used to button up your wedding 
gown, the one you found 
in the attic, in a memory, 
drive it into the ligament 
shelf, the space between—
tell you to stay still despite 
the clenching inside, the divide, 
stay still so they can push it 
deep enough to take it, 
that is, the pain, that is 
the feeling in the legs, 
and then with it, this 
egg you’ve been carrying 
like a prayer. You won’t 
feel a thing but a pinch, 
then a burn, a sudden give, 
a loss, the blind end—relief. 
It’s ok to give away 
that pain. Give it 
away.