TransWeb Webcast of the 2004 US Transplant Games

	SATURDAY JULY 31: EXTRA! POETRY: Dave Stringer
	Transplantation I return to my tired hotel room: the empty tv, papers sprawled on the desk, a book begun on the plane the morning newspaper still waiting. Athletes crowd in with me sporting new kidneys, new hearts, a lung or two, a pancreas. Some have emerged from comas. Others were down to their last few days. Some carry a pink gift received when just a few weeks old, their first glimpse of our shiny world extended into this life of detail. I dump my load of notes on the bed, consider another cup of coffee and my waiting keyboard. I take off my shoes and decide to call home. Your voice is so you. In your warm tones I feel your embrace, smell your clean hair. We talk about nothing - your day, my day, our granddaughter's ten steps in a row, the vacuuming skills I lack and prefer not to discuss. Words now do not matter, only your heart transplanted to mine.

Last updated on: Friday, 05-Feb-2010 15:05:42 UTC