poetry

Hip Surgery

Sally

“Here’s the things that you should do.
Doing them is up to you.
Don’t do too much or too little.
It’s all spelled out — jot and tittle.
I’ve done my job. Now you do yours.
You’ll find there are no magic cures.
Good luck. Work hard. I’ll see you soon,”
With that, the surgeon left the room.
Empowerment.

This week’s W3 prompt comes on the heels of my total hip replacement. Here’s what POW Dennis Johnstone challenged us to do. He called it “Let the noun wait.”

This week’s prompt invites you to write toward something, rather than starting from it. You’ll be building pressure, rhythm, and meaning without naming your subject until the final line.

Step 1: Choose an abstract noun

Pick a single abstract noun that carries weight, mystery, or tension for you—something like liberty, danger, truth, love, exile, justice, forgiveness, joy, grief, silence…

Don’t use it until your poem’s final line.

Step 2: Delay the subject

Start each line with a description or action that leads us toward the noun, not from it. This is called left-branching syntax—it means delaying the main subject or verb.

You’re working with delay, accumulation, and unfolding. The noun you’ve chosen arrives only at the end. Until then, build around it, toward it, beneath it. Let readers feel its shape before they hear its name.

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Published by Sally

10 thoughts on “Hip Surgery”

  2. Sally, your poem lands with quiet strength—“Don’t do too much or too little” is just perfect.

    Here’s wishing you a refuah sheleimah, which is Hebrew for complete healing—it’s the traditional Jewish way of wishing someone well when they’re recovering.

    ~David

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  5. My experiences as a patient saw me read your poem ironically. It was only when I started writing this response that I thought, perhaps, it was literal and sincere. It does create tension, that’s for sure.

    I’m going to stick with my ironic reading. Hip Surgery is short, sharp, and highly effective. I like the use rhyme and rhythm to expose the hollowness that can hide beneath the language of care. The tone is deceptively light, almost playful, but what’s being described is anything but. The singsong couplets mimic the cadence of authority delivering a well-rehearsed script, something I’ve witnessed as both patient and healthcare worker, while the final, delayed noun empowerment lands with what felt like irony to me. Your poem meets the prompt perfectly, not just in structure but in spirit: the entire poem leads the reader toward a word that, when finally revealed, recontextualises everything that came before it. Or underscores it.

    For those of us who’ve been handed “empowerment” as a polite form of abandonment – particularly in the context of Long Covid or other chronic conditions – this has real force. The narrator doesn’t need empty slogans; they need support, resources, and continuity of care. The poem’s strength lies in its restraint: no melodrama, just a distilled truth delivered with clinical precision. It’s a potent piece of poetic advocacy –quietly furious, deeply resonant.

    Alternatively, if read literally, it’s a neat encapsulation of professional guidance and encouragement: a surgeon who offers clear expectations, respects autonomy, and trusts the patient to take responsibility. . I know which reading resonates most with me!

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    1. It’s funny — before the surgery, I took the surgeon’s instructions as empowerment. Post-surgery, however, I see the irony all too clearly.

      I’m glad the poem can be read both ways and hold truth. Thank you so much for your comment!

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  7. I fortunately have little experience with surgeons- but the whole idea scares me- so I have to doubt that empowered is what I would be feeling! Tongue in cheek I get it- but in reality? I might just be a-fraidy cat!

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  8. Being a patient sure takes patience… – I wish you rapid healing, take the time to write lots of poetry, with little walks to get refreshments…. 💞

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