They called him Silk for the moves
he wove into
the fabric of his game, the softness
of his hands
catching the ball, the smooth arc
his body traced
on its flight to the hoop, the seamless movement
he shot the ball through a hole in
the sky,
how he scored thirty but only broke
sweat for five.
Years later, when I began to
practice medicine,
I wanted his flawless game, his
complete control,
every decision effortless, even
under the pressure
of an appointment book and fifteen
minute clock,
cool with the bad calls that come
at the end of a day,
my skills perfected, my touch so
precise
I could match my moves in any
game against
disease or death with a grace as
smooth as Silk.
