Ambroise Paré

By SUSAN KINSOLVING
A war surgeon, he saw all losses: life being
the larger part; limbs the lesser. Legs hanging
from trees; on the field, hands disarmed.
Teeth missing; toes afloat in a bucket of blood.
A competent carpenter, he sawed and drilled,
pulled with pliers, hammered and hacked.
Much symmetry was skewed, gaps and gapes,
the glaring absence of an eye, gouged
and gone, bulging on the tip of a bayonet
or staring up from the ground, its final site.
Paré didn’t like the look of it; being French,
he began to paint. On tiny metal discs, covered
with chamois, he made the marks of a pupil,
and soon became an artisan, attending to the iris
and its color wheel. A cord was tied around
each patient’s head to keep the enameled artifice
in place. Paré called his creation an Ekblepharon,
eked from the Greek. He also sculpted hands and feet,
bringing such pieces to the maimed men, offering his eyes
as a new point of view, an ultimate trompe l’oeil.

 

Susan Kinsolving has published the poetry collections The White Eyelash, Dailies & Rushes, a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, Among Flowers,and the forthcoming My Glass Eye. As a librettist, she has had works performed with the Marin Symphony, Santa Rosa Symphony, Glimmerglass Opera, and The Baroque Choral Guild in New York, The Netherlands, Italy, and California.

[Purchase your copy of Issue 02 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Ambroise Paré

Related Posts

October 2026 Poetry Feature: David Barber and David Lehman

DAVID BARBER
Sometimes a marvel of meteorology, the makings of a hypothesis. / Sometimes historical, sometimes supernatural, sometimes hearsay – / Sometimes a little bird tells someone it’s raining sprats on the isthmus. / Not just fish – sometimes showers of frogs, the odd lizard or elver.

Two Poems by Dalia Taha, translated by Sara Elkamel

DALIA TAHA
All we own are our lips / and the pupils of our eyes—the car / will plow into all of this. / And still, life is far too complex / for words like victory or defeat. // Life is Salma on the balcony / moving plants to bigger pots, in her eyes / the settlement’s lights. 

Headshot of Brionne Janae

September 2026 Poetry Feature

BRIONNE JANAE
did you keep your mind? / you got to walk it for yourself / and on returning what state did you find it in? / as in what state were you in? / were you where you left yourself? / and who was left? / was anyone left? / and how sure were you that you could reach them?