Apr 2016
When the words first came out of his mouth I was squeezing her hand
My brain was in jeopardy of knocking down the very last domino to the apocalypse
Our tongues paralyzed
Our hearts pizza dough being thoroughly kneaded with Titanium knuckles
Organs being scrunched up like those As Seen On TV pocket garden hoses
Then a small shy sound is heard inside my cranium
A quivering voice shyly saying
"May, it can't be that bad. It's just like Surfing. Surfing in the wipeout zone"
That one timid voice paused all chaos
Each domino standing back up,
Resuming its natural and rightful spot
I turned to Morgan and smiled a big goofy grin
And as I grinned I said
"Morgan, love, it's just like surfing. And I know there is no board that you can't ride."
She then looked back up at me and laughed.
"Okay then. Come on, the ocean is waiting for us."
Morgan paddled out into the calm ocean and there was no hesitance to start the wild ride that we she embarked on
Because we knew that it couldn't wait.
It took months before balancing became manageable, for that's what eight rounds of chemotherapy can do to a person
Like oxygen corroding the Statue of Liberty in the rough rain storms of New York
And as much of a rigorous athlete she was, she could not avoid the first gnarly tidal wave, or those following in its footsteps
And then there was the last wave that glided into a series of tubes. At any moment she could collapse within
I remember in the break between the first and second tubes our wishes were granted
We were married in the tiny chapel inside the hospital.
And I kissed her
I kissed her radioactive lips and her puffy steroid chipmunk cheeks
I hugged and caressed her bony body with tubes all attached
I kissed her for the last time
In the third tube, right before her eternal coma she asked me a question.
"I had to wipe out sometime didn't I?"
I wept a monsoon on months end
When it was suggested to terminate life support , through barrels of tears I nodded only thinking about that one question.
Yes Morgan. Yes.
"You had a good run" I say holding her hand as her monitor went beep beeep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
My brain was in jeopardy of knocking down the very last domino to the apocalypse
Our tongues paralyzed
Our hearts pizza dough being thoroughly kneaded with Titanium knuckles
Organs being scrunched up like those As Seen On TV pocket garden hoses
Then a small shy sound is heard inside my cranium
A quivering voice shyly saying
"May, it can't be that bad. It's just like Surfing. Surfing in the wipeout zone"
That one timid voice paused all chaos
Each domino standing back up,
Resuming its natural and rightful spot
I turned to Morgan and smiled a big goofy grin
And as I grinned I said
"Morgan, love, it's just like surfing. And I know there is no board that you can't ride."
She then looked back up at me and laughed.
"Okay then. Come on, the ocean is waiting for us."
Morgan paddled out into the calm ocean and there was no hesitance to start the wild ride that we she embarked on
Because we knew that it couldn't wait.
It took months before balancing became manageable, for that's what eight rounds of chemotherapy can do to a person
Like oxygen corroding the Statue of Liberty in the rough rain storms of New York
And as much of a rigorous athlete she was, she could not avoid the first gnarly tidal wave, or those following in its footsteps
And then there was the last wave that glided into a series of tubes. At any moment she could collapse within
I remember in the break between the first and second tubes our wishes were granted
We were married in the tiny chapel inside the hospital.
And I kissed her
I kissed her radioactive lips and her puffy steroid chipmunk cheeks
I hugged and caressed her bony body with tubes all attached
I kissed her for the last time
In the third tube, right before her eternal coma she asked me a question.
"I had to wipe out sometime didn't I?"
I wept a monsoon on months end
When it was suggested to terminate life support , through barrels of tears I nodded only thinking about that one question.
Yes Morgan. Yes.
"You had a good run" I say holding her hand as her monitor went beep beeep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
I do not have a wife. This is just a fictious poem created whem I was talking with my zebra friends. True element in this poem will not be named for privacy of friend.
