I used to confess
Confess myself all the time
Confessing parts of my personality
Disowning myself
While playing the martyr to my flaws

I don’t do this anymore
Suddenly
After years of work on my inner walls
I hear my no’s and yes’s clearly
I respond to them shortly thereafter
And I no longer  confess
That I’m very sensitive
That I have a past with trauma and pain
That I have unique needs

Part of this is knowing I’m not alone
We’re all sensitive
We all have pain
We all have unique needs

My favorite poets
Are the ones who don’t know it
The pedestrian texts
From people who love
Who’s love has made them artists

My little Christmas cactus is growing
A lovely slime mold
And my dads cancer is spreading
From his esophagus to his lung
I guess that’s the way of life
To grow
But the slime mold will coexist
And make the Christmas cactus happy
The cancer won’t coexist
Won’t make his body happy
It will eat up the life
He forfeits
And he still won’t call his grandson
Who so badly wants to hear from him
His grandson, a 19 year old, fully formed, passionate gift from the universe
In his late age
And he won’t call him
It’s prolonged and prolonged
It goes on and on
The breaks from treatment
Only make the cancer worse
And make the treatment worse the next time around
He refuses to stretch and get a massage
Refuses to let his muscles
Be coaxed into relaxation
But who can blame him
Everything *****
His body has turned on him
No vices longer near to take the edge off
Poor darling who is anything but a darling
Spewing vitriol
Seething disdain
Or silent
A small smile of something like escape when a bright red cardinal flits by
Free

Lately I’ve been letting my hair grow
My leg hair has caused me consistent unrest in my life
Shaving and plucking and waxing only for it to bristle again 30 minutes later
Coming in dark on my pale skin
Sharp and tough as cactus spears
So I’m letting it grow
And wearing shorts
I went to a friends house with my hairy legs and he was shocked
He wondered out loud “you go out like that?”
That time around my grown out leg hair only lasted a month
I wonder how long this phase will last
Maybe I’ll never shave it again
Wouldn’t that be easy?

I feel the same about a wild lawn
Of uncut grass
Growing in thickets and patches
Different species and colors and lengths
Catching the light
Being divine
Maybe my leg hair can be like this

I emerge from the dock barefoot in a t shirt
And find my sister talking to neighbors
They’re wearing shoes with their hair done
I wonder how wild I look
Not as wild as I am

They’re teachers too
My bare hairy legs reveal
That I’m a feminist
She clocked the legs and didn’t have to
Take a moment to let it sink in
As my friend from college did when I went thrifting with her last week
She started at them and then quieted herself
But this lovely woman in hot pink
Gave me her approval
She said I’ll be okay teaching
I can handle myself she said
I’m a feminist

Reactions from women
About my hairy legs
Are becoming
So fun

The blue dust of death
Lingers by your elbows
A skeleton in a t-shirt
Who insists he isn’t hungry
Who insists he doesn’t deserve
The dust used to sit around you in big puffs
Blown in fresh from the latest round of chemo
Now it swirls by your ears
Seeps at your nail beds
Swishes in the wispy little hair you have left
Now we’re doing the natural method
Many methods exist
And we’ve chosen one with good results
From a friend of a friend
She had three lumps in her breast and now they’re all gone
So now we talk to the good dr Valentina
Who answers questions and tells us what to do
And you are awake for all of it
You are not lost in a stupor of narcotics
Lost in the brain slickening wash of chemo
Lost in a stupor of alcohol
Lost in a rise of vivid emotions like rage and shame
Lost in the waves of the Holy Ghost
No, no you are here
In the stillness, in the quiet morning
In the house with your worried wife
Your worried daughters
With yourself
You are awake, conscious
Making these healthy, guided, slow, steady, daily choices
You’re surrendering consciously
And it’s hard
You’re present with your demons
And it’s hard
Maybe you see the blue dust of death
And maybe since your eyes are now clear
Maybe you think it’s new
Maybe you think it’s worsened and not lessened
You know so little, dad
You know about submarines, trains, fear, National Geographic, how to give a cutting death stare, how to starve your body, how to dehydrate, how to laugh off the pain of a friends wife, how to to convert someone to our lord and savior Jesus Christ in a broom closet, how to make a savage dog submit, how to provide for a family for 20 years, how to leave your young children, how to not care, how to brush it off, how to hide your drinking, how to lie, how to inquire, how to shame, how to apologize
Some of these skills are new and I’m grateful for them
And now you are learning how to live, blue dust of death and all

She has returned
This time wearing all the trappings of an overworked, domesticated woman
Cuts on my hands
From hastily, angrily chopping vegetables

What would it be like to lay on your chest
and cry about my dying dad?

I wonder sometimes, if I'm being dramatic
But, no.
It's not dramatic, as it is right now, he is dying.
The chemo is killing the tumor and it's killing him in equal measure.

My mother held me today
In the crook of her neck I rested my head
Her arms wrapped perfectly around my back
And I listened to her heartbeat
The heartbeat that my whole body knows
I rested against her secure, warm body
With my own arms curled into my own chest
I cried little sobs
That she soothed and cooed

Is this what it takes for me to rest against
My mother's chest? (the judgement of my vulnerability asks me in its relentless way)
My father's decline and weakness?
No, not just this (I respond in patience)
This and many other things.

I want to be a good mother one day
a wonderful mother
I want to be a secure partner
Someone who is not anxious and avoidant
And fearful
Maybe this is all allowing me to heal that (the part of me that wants to make sense of this suffering suggests)

I left the house
Then I thought that I should go back inside and hug my dad
Who is still alive
So I did
And a tear slipped as I told him to take it easy

Then my mother saw my crying face
And burst to her feet
I'm sure she thought he was dead and I was coming to tell her
He is that fragile (with this phrase I wonder who do I need to convince that he is as unwell as he is? Myself of course, the part from the beginning of the poem where I wonder if I am being dramatic)
But I told her he was okay and I was not
And she told me to sit beside her
1 month ago, two months ago, 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 15 years ago,
I would have never ever sat so close to her, rested against her chest,
Listened with such open ears to her heartbeat,
Let myself admit how soothing it is,
How it is her special heartbeat,
Her firm, warm arms
Her voice
That can soothe me only in that way
And that this is okay
That this is natural and I am beyond lucky to have such a mother
So, in pure, lovely vulnerability
I let her hold me and she did not let go until I pulled away,
And I did not pull away for a good long while

Healing occurred in her arms.
The healing of a small, scared child who was still waiting in my chest to be held in this way.

When did I last lay against someone and cry?
Allow myself to be held?
Allow them to feel the hitch of my shoulders?
And relax without that stiff little guard keeping my heart in the box?

Probably in college with a close friend, but I don't remember.

So, in my reality,
This is the first time.
A new life began for me today.
A new agreement to be held safe when I feel scared and sad
A new agreement to be soothed
And to feel safe
To be regulated
To recover
To rest assured
Rather than rest in anxious suspense or  in distracted quiet as I do other times.

Yes in this new timeline,
I know what it is like to rest against
A chest and cry
Not just any chest, I chide and remind,
My mother's chest
Wow, how soft am I becoming?
That I can enjoy this special medicine?
What other medicine's that life has to offer will I
Enjoy soon?
In what other ways can I become soft and open?
Open to receive and allow.