By madowoi

Dr.'s Office

The art is kin in skill
To that of jewelry,
The stuffs wherein they deal
Being precious equally,

The tracery of nerve
As delicate, as fine
As arabesque in curve
Of silver-wrought design.

Let him who works in stone
Come fashion in its place
The lovely nacred bone
Within the flesh, and chase

The ruby of the breast.
He shall discover thus
Much likeness, at the least,
Save that the curious

Beneath his instrument
Discovered may descry
A certain palpitant 
And mute hostility.

Medicinae Doctor, by Marie Borroff

Took an hour off work today to go into the doctor to get my hand looked at. My knuckles are discolored from some scratches I received a couple of weeks ago, and there was some concern of possible infection. I was assured that my hands looked strange, and the marks were certainly curious, but other than that they seemed fine. I insisted on being given some confusing sounding phrase to use when referring to my condition, and was told "hyper pigmentation of the hand." That made me feel better. We agreed I should call back if one of my fingers fell off.

There were a couple of neat pieces of art on the walls, and since it was such a grey and rainy day I took a couple photos just in case. Just in case I lost the use of my hands, that is.

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