The “normal” rhythm of Monday radiation and chemo for husband has been blasted to smithereens today as we wander back and forth between late radiation and radiation assessment and the new “white blood cells are low” shall we even do chemo. Yes – the baby white blood cells make up for the dead adults. Apparently this is a good thing.
It is afternoon and we are now ensconced in the chemo suite, and I have my computer up and running (having finally learned how to get connected here at the hospital, right when we are finishing up – I’m not complaining, I’ll take that – finishing up) and I’m going to throw up today’s journaling with no editing because that’s what I have time and inclination for.
Here we go!
This first one is based on a picture from a magazine (and I didn’t keep the credits – it is not mine, if I can track down the credit I will edit and put here. I should know better, artist that I am).
The fish, someone’s imagined idea of “fish”
blue scales sprinkled with sparkling purple
floats behind the broken red iron fence
colored dull by the surrounding indigo night.
Walking by, a woman cloaked in green
with her doberman, all sleek black muscle,
her hair in a bun, her hand on her purse strap,
notices this fish out of water
understands the metaphor meant for her
for the life she was living
that changed in an instant
as life can, feels kinship
as they face West, together, neither
knowing what comes next.
This came this morning – almost upon wakening, and I have no idea. If you do, let me know.
Here You Sit, Reading
You sit, read to me
from your Book of Virtues
pray to a god you’ve never met
pretend piousness and other
words whose meaning was never
part of your understanding.
The devil can quote scripture too,
knowing the wicked are shapeshifters
but not in a good way, like K
who would turn into a raven
collect the shining things she loved,
more like B who was a wolf
the kind Red Riding Hood knew to slay
rescuing her grandmother – and You
were so sure it was a woods MAN
who was the hero. Wrong.
Your real name, the one the trees
whisper to each other behind your back,
“Wrong,” and no matter the platitudes
dripping from the place you call mouth,
piling like trash the rats eat in dark corners –
yes, no matter, the black hole
you try to suck me into, I, *I*, will rise,
will stand, and I am not afraid. And
You, You still will not see.
1 Comment
That:
understands the metaphor meant for her
for the life she was living
that changed in an instant
as life can, feels kinship
as they face West, together, neither
knowing what comes next.
Powerful….we have no control….my thinking….just keep swimming and stay in the water. Beautiful. Beautiful. That’s how I see it.
Then this:
Wrong.
Your real name, the one the trees
whisper to each other behind your back,
“Wrong,” and no matter the platitudes
dripping from the place you call mouth,
piling like trash the rats eat in dark corners –
yes, no matter, the black hole
you try to suck me into, I, *I*, will rise,
will stand, and I am not afraid. And
You, You still will not see.
PowerFUL. Strong and female determined. I love it all!