"chemo" poems
*in the midst of an emerald slumbering forest
laced with pungent scents of jaded wood
a burgundy blushed tail
of a chestnut hued fox
scurries as copper sunbeams part the day
a hospital lumes starkly nearby
its aura exudes hints of melancholy
commingled with faint impressions
of halcyon futures
not yet lived
at neighboring dartmouth
a student sprinting to class
drops his crimson colored backpack
the prospect of cancer
far from his budding consciousness
my beloved sits patiently
pondering pensively
his last chemo treatment
elusion of death
not far from his mind
i feign to fend off future catastrophes
watching letters scramble across my screen
earnestly writing
in a desperate attempt
to be with him forevermore
an aquamarine hummingbird drenched in tranquility
senses the inverse
its amber tipped wings stand seemingly stationary
while it steals a quick glance through the window
curious at chemical infusions meant to heal
my beloved walks out
of the austere building
with rose colored glasses i feel
that we’ll whirl on the tips of gilded stardust
dancing with another chance to fly
©2016janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
When did it visit me?
I really don't know when.
It came out of nowhere,
I feel that it's a sin.
Naked in the shower,
washing up clean.
I felt this little lump,
scared and unforeseen.
Feeling all alone,
I looked up to the sky.
Fingers locked together,
I asked the Lord, "Why?"
Now, I lay in silence,
while the tumor grows inside.
Putting up these walls,
all I do is cry.
Months have gone by,
with the chemo and the draws.
The sickness took my *******
now that's the final straw.
It's been six months now,
I struggled for my life.
I beat the **** cancer.
I AM HAPPY, I WILL SURVIVE!!
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Like flipped coin midair
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle
Two ends of a spectrum, Möbius strip
In a room together,
Maxwell’s demon, revolving door
Cancer and chemo
Like life and death
Only one can be
The next is inevitable
Like an election
Only one figurehead may speak for a governing body
Like the seasons
Change is expected
Like a cat left to its own devices
Guaranteed to scare itself after a given time
Man tries to conquer for comforts sake
Mercurial reactions
Like elements under catalyst
Electron orbitals
Exchange positive core
Theory of relativity
A choice of determining
Accuracy of position or velocity
Hermes, deity of mine
Masculine and feminine
Ruler of I
Relieve the war of the immortal twins
Gemini
Battling my heart and mind
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
1
Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Preseason. Johnny Manziel, running.
The nurse is a signal caller, too.
She flicks the wrist like Rodgers,
puts spin on it like Manning.
Once a rookie, now a seasoned vet.
2
Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Network glitch? John Gruden, talking.
Anxiety lurks in the tall grass
still licking its paws. My head's out the game.
I've become an easy meal.
3
Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
If I had another John he'd go right here.
I miss my mother, and how she smiles
like my illness only increases my value,
puts gold in my veins instead of chemo.
Rex throws his clipboard, I lose my appetite.
4
Monday Night Football On A Thursday.
No more John's. Get over it.
Game's almost over. My head fresh from
the toilet, pieces of everything falling out
of me. Broken. Stumbling. At this moment,
football is enough.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
so you wanted a rose tattoo
but you never got one
you thought eventually you would
but not now
you thought you had time
but you never got one
because eventually never came
and now meant ever
we thought you had time
you were in the hospital bed
chemo always keeping you company
but you knew that hospital bed wouldn't be there soon
and now you're in the clouds
my cousin wanted a tattoo
but she couldn't decide what to get
you told her just get one already
because life is too short to not do what you want
one week later
you were gone
we were broken
and you looked over all of us
my cousin listened to you
she got that tattoo
so that you're always with her
oh those angel wings
you wanted a rose tattoo
just on your ankle
but you never got it
because time ran out
you never got the chance
to truly do what you wanted
to be wild
and feel free
so I'm getting a rose tattoo
just on my ankle
because next summer
it will be 10 years
10 years ago
you told my cousin to live her life
10 years ago
your life was taken
so mom,
I'm getting a rose tattoo
with your birth date
going up along the stem
the stem will be dark green
with thorns
but the rose will be red
and fully bloomed
because you didn't have a great past
but i know you're free now
something rough
can become smooth
so i want a rose tattoo
and I'm getting it next summer
because 10 years ago
my mom didn't live out her life like she wanted
so i will for her
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC
I saw her
I saw her smile
Focus out through the sparkle
Reflecting from her danglers
And the ones in the atmosphere.
Turquoise sequinned with beige
Crackers, all around her
Our first new year
Where she took me by
My hand, entangling fingers
Lacing, when she thought she'd
Lost me,skipping between
White walls and brown floors
Finding a way out
Through the maze.
Low hung ceiling lamps.
Dragging me back through my memory doors
Remains the same
White walls and brown floors
While I wait outside.
Inside you're having your chemo.
Crackers
Inside my heart
Slithering through my mouth
I see her in between
Those flinging and swinging
Prayer flags, I recollect
Hanging them in the backyard
Of our home, you
Bargained them out
A flea market, before
That year's Diwali
You had inside of you
A life that would bless us
In three months.
A tangerine Georgette Saree
And rhyming with it,
Rani colored bangles
Sneaking up on the roof.
Crackers
White walls, wooden floors
You lie quiet, unmoved.
A skyrocket ups in a distance
As I light you up in flames.
Crackers
You'd always come back
Focusing, defocusing
My memories' pitaara
Sparkling, dangling
Skipping and lacing
Through all those crackers
Lighting me up
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
They say that smell
Is your strongest sense
When tied to memory.
That just a whiff of a smell
Or even thought of a
Smell can bring you back
To a place and a time that
You had previously
Thought were left behind.
For me the smell of
Bleach is comfort, as my
Nanny used it as a
Standard, household
Cleaner. I love that smell
As well as of my favorite
Dinner, mildew (reminds me of summers spent
At camp, living out of a trunk) and
My favorite flowers
Each of these smells I
Love to revisit time and
Time again. One smell
Though has embedded
Itself in my memory and if
I have my way, I’ll never
Smell it again.
Mom had Colon cancer most
Of my time in
High school.
No clue on the stage
But it was best not
To
Ask
Surgeries, chemo, radiation, the
Whole
Nine
Things seemed to be fine,
Well, even great
Until it took a turn
My mom has never been
Skinny; she is petite, but
Normal
Suddenly she looked like
A holocaust victim
She would get quiet
Draw into herself
For periods of time
Another surgery. Fine
She returned home
And then something crept in
That something was death
And I’ll never know how I knew
You just know.
The smell of something
Dying
Isn’t pleasant
It puts you on edge
And turns your stomach
Mom was confident
That she was getting better
The smell, that can’t
Be described (dying tissue, pain
Suffering) was glaring
To me
I never asked Mom or Dad
If they could smell it
Because the smell of Death
Isn’t a sense that should
Be shared
I would just maintain that
I didn’t think
Something was right
A day or so later
Surgery. Fine. Home.
Smell.
Surgery. Fine. Home.
Smell.
Surgery. Fine. Home.
After that last
Surgery. The smell
Left. But even now
When I think back
To that time
That complicated time of
Soccer games
Chemotherapy
Apply to college
Surgeries
The one thing in the
Foreground
Is
That
Smell
Just a whiff of death
Of human decay
Of dying
Of suffering
And I’ve had my fill
For a lifetime
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
In childhood, your father’s name is DAD
Now grown, maybe with children of your own
But his name is still DAD
DAD, the teacher, the consoler, the advisor
Admonishes: “Drive safe” and “Save your Money”
Today he’s the bard
“This is like prison,” DAD laments while rolling his eyes
Tubes like thin plastic chains tether his deflated body
to blinking panels; paintings (factory printed ones)
pretend the hospital room is more than just a sterile space
Today, DAD’s eyes cast a faraway gaze, projecting
And I see the characters in his story
I see the 10 year old boy he describes, who snuck to stash a set
Of English Composition Texts in the boy’s bathroom
To escape Mrs. McElroy’s Fourth Grade course in Morose Poetry
I see the thin, sandy blond, 6 foot 2 high school rabblerouser
Who broke into the Vice Principal’s old Fiat
And buried Stilton cheese in the dashboard
All done on a sweltering May school day
The anecdote is punctuated with a smirk and a: “Who would do a thing like that?”
Stories of when he spotted a shy brunette at the dance and knew
Knew he was to marry her;
Stories of when his own DAD grasped his infant grandson’s dimpled hand
Before giving in to complications of a heart attack
The bard stops and exhales a sigh
He cringes in his crinkled skin
Sunken eyes squeeze close “I’m sorry”
the nausea interrupts his tale “These drugs are…”
“It’s okay. Take your time” I console, trying to comfort the pain in the room
Now I’m the consoler, taking on the job to ameliorate
Now this man, vulnerable in his suffering, is no longer DAD
Now mortal, a child, a brother, a lover, a patient
A man chained by the body’s sickness
He is distilled by chemo
reduced to a soul, who, through affliction,
Forgets
As his children remember
He is as helpless in this life as we are.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
for you, we bundle into the car,
the littlest
(half my brother and twice my nuisance)
and the middlest
(14 going on favorite)
the bitterest
(only girl and pen-in-hand)
and the biggestest
(20 years
of bombastic nonsense)
30 minutes and four cornfields later
he'll start.
"i have to ***
"there's a bottle up there, dad."
"dad, i have to ***
"dad."
"dad."
"dad."
and he's going to *** in that ******* bottle
which will inevitably stay in the car for the remaining 8 and a half hours,
sloshing and yellow
too dangerously close to the color of something
you would actually drink.
the two youngest
will get into some sort of argument
some sort of argument that i will intervene in.
"shut up!" he'll say.
"chill out!" i'll shout.
"you chill out!"
and my father and my stepmother
will eye from the front seat
until one of them turns around
("relax, madeline!" sharply).
and then the oldest
like clockwork
will act like he knows more than he does about something
(my father will just chuckle, but i'll begin, "bullsh-" i'll begin, but my stepmother will hiss,
"madeline!" as if i've killed somebody
even though the 8-year-old curses even worse than i do).
he'll make a face at me
and i'll make a face at him.
the littlest will
inevitably
stomp on my seatbelt about 30 times a second
which i will not be able to stand,
and we'll get into an argument which will turn into me
versus
the whole car
(afterwards, much stewing,
and resentfully cranking my ipod up as loud as it will go).
9 hours and 12 thousand cliff-faces later
we'll get there.
we'll make it.
we'll only be
a little worse for the wear.
we will be swept up by our twelve billion aunts
our nine billion uncles
and our three billion cousins,
like we always are.
someday something will be missing.
first it was your back,
and the postponement,
and eventual cancellation of our trip.
then it was your surgeries
(why weren't they working?)
and then it was a series of words i don't understand
stage
inoperable
3
cancerous mass
lung
malignant
radiation
therapy chemo
you may crumple in
on that blackness inside you,
that's eating you alive
one lung at a time,
pushing,
on your back,
until you can't even stand.
the fabric of our family
is plucked by this
disease.
this is my poem, my plea
for you
and for us,
that you not pull into the blackness,
and that you fight the tumors and the tests
and that you win.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
Be still. The words I thought of when you were ill. I prayed with you every night, then God let me feel your heartbeat. Time was collecting your bloodflow. Heartbeat. Repeat, repeating the pain I felt that day when cousin' came in and said,"God took your mother up today."I was nine years old. You died about two weeks before my birthday. All I got was, packed up cardboard boxes with scotched taped ribbon that glistened in the sun as we made room for it in storage. Stored heartbeats. No one could take your place. The sad thing is I barely remember your face. Chemo. You had to take all those tests, and in the end they still cut off your left breast. Heartbeat. Time finally took your breath. Time ended our time. Why was it that after you died the doctor's found a cure to this genocide? I wish you were still here by my side. I was your baby. I asked the doctor if you were going to live, and all I got was, "maybe." Maybe you might come back someday. You used to appear all the time but then you drifted away. Heartbeat. I saw you laying in red. That red that, filled my eyes with hopelessness. I wished that red were still hanging in your closet in the dry cleaners bag, and the your aroma were in the stiches. After 7 years, I still can't believe you're dead. Even though you're not here, I think about you everydat. I ask a question that every child asks. "Why did God take my mother away?" Heartbeat. Time has finished this poem.
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 2:25 PM UTC
She mentioned in passing,
That if anything was to happen,
They asked if I could be yours.
To shout at to tidy my room,
Clean the dishes,
Or tell me to **** off when my heart was broken.
You think your greatest gestures were the presents, tickets, trips, autographs,
The army of "Please look after this bear" Paddingtons,
But you're wrong.
It was the two sentence emails,
Telling me cocktails could take the edge off chemo.
It was teaching me how to swear.
It was the cough and mumbled 'Luvyuutu" over the phone, reluctant but not regretful.
That call she made probably ended,
With a pause, a gulp, a tremor in your voice.
It would be you who'd shorten such an important answer.
A "Yep".
A clack of the phone on the desk.
And a "Luvyuutu, Ferg." after you hung up.
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
I shaved my head this morning.
The sun hadn’t yet conquered the horizon
But the birds outside the window cheered for me
As I pulled the shaver from my forehead to my crown.
My tiny fingers gripped the electric razor,
Holding on for life,
As it were much too big for my nervous hands.
I cut my skull three times before allowing myself to cry.
I peeked at the blonde clumps of hair that rained
To the cold bathroom tiles and puddled around my feet.
After finishing, I went to lay in the arms of my blankets,
While my pillows kissed the back of my head,
Healing the nicked wounds scattered over my skin.
I left the hair to sleep in the sink and over the floor.
Welcoming the sun rise, it felt warm against my bare skull
And I wondered if this was how heaven felt like,
Walking up to the gates.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
I tricked a god.
now Cronus can't escape.
Sealing a god in an hourglass,
I locked time away.
To stave off my lover's date with fate.
Where she will perish, becoming lost to me.
Locked behind heaven's gate.
Cronus promises to **** me-
when i set him free.
Only with his freedom will the world reanimate.
Containing a god with dark magic;
I made a costly mistake.
Trapping him forced the world to become frozen in place.
-But I could spend forever learning
every little feature of her face.
How her frail figure fought for every breath.
The chemo for the cancer ate her weight.
Shedding the hair from her head.
I'll remain here by her side,
until I devise an alternative to what Cronus said.
stretching her final seconds into the infinite,
as she lays here in this hospital bed.
... ♾️ ...
How can i exist in a museum with one exhibit?
I tried forcing time to rewind.
I meant to spite the concept of mortality.
Instead I've been trapped here for eons,
With,her still somehow lost to me...
...I am tempted to set cronus free.
... ♾️ ...
It's been chess with two moves:
You either speak or don't speak.
I can't find another way.
I've become worn out and jaded.
Cellmates with Cronus so long,
In this temporal prison I involuntarily created.
"It's wrong to steal time.
As karma,you've had no one to spend it with.
You tricked a god, but I'll still grant you your wish.
Undo your dark magic, a swift death I promise you,
Once your soul is released from the world,
I'll cure her cancer, like i believe you intended to."
And as Cronus spoke.. i knew what i would do.
Telling him,
"I refuse to let time pass.
I refuse to release you from the hourglass.
I refuse to let her be lost to me."
I pull her in close as i grin,
Cronus accepting defeat.
"I'd rather remain here...
In a staring contest with eternity. "
-
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 1:35 AM UTC
/ innocent until prōven guilty,
contra guilty until
prōven innocent...
ah!
so the minority report?
guilty, while innocent,
based upon a premonition?
hindsight with a zodiac
type of interpretation...
innocent until prōven guilty
has no superiority
in practice over the continental
guilty until prōven innocent...
no... because the principle invokes
presuppositions,
of suppositions...
treating the two as propositions -
or rather... "verbs" inacted...
innocent until prōven guilty -
then no understanding of freedom,
at least guilty until prōven innocent
allows understanding
restraint, however unfair,
with 18 years lost...
and then the tears of relief!
Tomasz Komenda...
an "espionage" case of staging
empathy...
en masse...
an innocent man walks away
from falsely imposed justice measures...
a redemption...
a count de monte cristo
allowance...
but in reverse?
the evil man walks free...
succumbing to old age,
and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon...
there is no redemption aspect
of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence...
the... innocent, until prōven guilty,
contra: guilty until prōven innocent
schizophrenia?
the latter overshadows
the former...
because we're not babies...
at least with the latter:
there's a redemption exegesis -
but with the former?
bitter-sweet tears within
the confines, of an example akin
to jimmy savile...
guilty until prōven innocent
has much more authentic emotional
content, with a redemption narrative...
innocent until prōven guilty
has? not much,
just a grave,
and the stunted emotional expression,
what ought to be flowers
within the heart,
instead: fungus, growing in the dark...
and thus... translating
to other hearts:
let's allow this chemo-phobia
chemo-philia experiment
be left intact in its the momentum...
honestly... the study of law -
is probably the ********* game
in the allowance of games of
adulthood... one tier above gambling.
p.s.
because you know there's proof:
and that the past-participle
thrown into a future, does require
an omega rather than an omicron...
not an oh, but an ooh...
hence? reign from above,
on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
Shorts
T-shirt
Flip flops or barefoot
Pepsi
Virginia Slim
Three Musketeer
Long thick hair
Blue eyes
And a beautiful soul
Seven months had gone by
About 214 days
175 sick
The rest not to bad
Chemo took it's toll
Ran her down
Had her drained
Never wondered why me
Always kept a smile
Even when the battle was for her life
She been through so much
It's no surprise she never gave up
None of us knew
This was new to us
We took remission as a win
Fight over
No rematch
Mom raise your hands
A proven champion
Back to life
How it use to be
All smiles making plans
Had a follow up late November
Still remember her deep cleaning the day before
Not a spot untouched
No ***** clothes
Dinner cooked for two nights
Never one to have a purse so I remember thinking
Why is she carrying a bag
I never asked but I think she knew
The beast came back to life
Showing no mercy
Ran rapid through her body
Before I could ask
Her look gave me my answer
Chemo wasn't a option
Neither was praying to a God
Natural medicine and marijuana were useless
We all stood around confused and just as useless
She made it back home early December
Took a week but made her list
First year she didn't go so we went searching
Seen the hurt when she couldn't get out of bed on Christmas
Held on to see the year 2k
Ninety six hours later she closed her eyes one last time
My hasn't been dry since
Shorts
T-shirt
Flip flops or barefoot...
I love you mom
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
Doot doot
I hear the trumpets of the deceased
The rotting calcium
The bones
An army of many arise
Doot doot...Doot doot
Their weapons edgy,
and captions random
Doot doot
May the great raid begin
Spooky memes spammed in the thousands
An extreme dose of spooky chemo
Doot doot.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
Young Liam loved Orange
and liked to wear ties.
To his firehouse friends
He was one of the guys.
He had his own locker
a slicker and hat.
He also had cancer,
and a bad one at that.
From early on in his life
he fought neuroblastoma ;
An invasive tumor
a metastatic carcinoma.
His family who loved him
labored to save
their dear little child
Prince Liam the Brave.
He faced surgery bravely,
engaged in his fight..
He endured radiation
Chemo and knife.
When many a New Yorker
complains about stress,
Prince Liam was stoic
When put to the test.
Then just before Christmas
he suffered a relapse
He became neutrapenic-
His immune system collapsed.
With blood in his *****
And a spot on his lung
Liam grew weak.
his defenses undone.
An Amethyst stone
he received from a friend
was his talisman of hope
that he held to the end.
The worst part of the journey
was when hope was gone.
Then Liam lay, still and silent
in his mother's arms.
There are brave fire fighters
Who’ll be fighting back tears
Brave Prince Liam has died,
He lived only six years
There are many old people
still avoiding the grave
Who know less about love
Than did Liam the brave
We will gather together
In St Francis’ nave
To remember the life of
Prince Liam the brave
i
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
A few states away, tubes hooked to his veins
Why haven't they told me it's cancer?
"He's getting a couple tests done"
"Don't worry it's nothing ***
Why haven't they told me it's cancer?
I hear the late night phone calls
The "how's he doing" phone calls
I got a little curious
Looked at some of your messages
They said he has cancer
You said pack your bags
We are going to visit
I know he's in the hospital
But you never told me it was cancer
I heard he started the chemo
But I didn't hear it from you
I read dad's email
I just wanted to know
What's wrong with him
What the hell's going on
Never thought it'd be cancer
Last night we got in that fight
I called you a liar
You didn't know why
You don't know that I know
My grandpas got cancer
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
I remember when the chemo failed,
your family asked the doctors "isn't there something you can do?"
they turned to me, like I was guilty,
and said "no, you're wrong, this can't be true".
"palliative care" "hospice" "comfortable" euphemisms fell from my mouth,
they tasted bitter like acid and lies--
I wanted to scream and cry and tear my heart out.
At night I lay in an empty bed,
and when I sleep I dream,
I wake up next to a body bag,
my mouth too terrified to scream.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
I stood over the sink
Scrubbing our negroni glasses
Wishing the ginger-scented soap
Would wash away the cancer
Because the chemo didn’t work
I was wearing eyeliner
When I first met you
We’d laugh about that later
Over a bottle of wine
And patatas bravas
We always had our weekends
Movie dates and inside jokes
We would guffaw at the
Fuckery of it all
My god your laugh
How it filled a room
I remember when you said
“I love you, Christopher…
because you just GET ME”
You expressed appreciation
For how I carved out time
For our friendship
I reminded you,
“I don’t carve out time for you,
I shove everything away while
screaming ‘I NEED MY HEIDI TIME!’”
*********
I need my Heidi time
For years you were
The most consistent thing in my life
Always there for one another
We were each other’s touchstones
I realize this now more than ever
During my weekends spent alone
Wine tastes different now
Something’s missing
Going to the movies feels strange
It’s like the hero has
Left the frame
Remember when I smoked cigarettes?
You’d *** a drag as we crept
Through early evening traffic
On our way to get gelato
Or if we were feeling sassy
Maybe an affogato
I switched to vaping
When you went into hospice
Then back to menthols
When your spirit left this world
I’m addicted to our memories
More than the nicotine
They bang around my head
Like a song or a scent
Nostalgic
And
Lingering
You tattooed
“CEDENDO VINCES”
On your wrists
“By yielding, you will win”
My finger traced those words
While I held your hand
Last breaths
But what are deaths?
Transitions
Energy
Shifting
A spark
Returning
/ / /
Those letters live
On my wrists now
A reminder of her
The sister I never had
And sometimes
I still hear her laugh
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 3:47 PM UTC
It's a Black horse
You can't deny it
Pins you real good
It's so quiet
Gaining Kingdom
Prime lymph node real estate
Late night cold shakes
Tried to hide it
It's a Black horse
Novv let's ride it
Beast is tiring
As it's striding
Losing Kingdom
Bring the chemo
&& **** this black horse
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
There's a virulent disease
inside him. It pervades every
where. It invades him. The
toxic cells exist in every nook
and crevice. He starts wondering
whether his soul and body will
suffice and live through the
brutal treatments that await.
Radiotherapy or chemo. A
part of himself could be lost in the
pomposity and elaborateness
of the machines used to do so.
He lies on the bed, surrounded
by the ostensibly loved ones
who mourn now and who hated
him once. He looks back at
his life and feels that getting
back to his healthy, strong self
is a chimera. Days pass and his
bed is his sanctuary. The reports
from the doctors arrive and he is
all but stationary. He finds the
concept of reports funny. They
determine life and death in a
second and after that, life could
be jubilant or miry with hopelessness.
The reports clearly indicate that
"cancer was not detected". He
scoffs at the elaborate medical
language and sits back and
relaxes, concluding his close
call with death and an emotional mess.
Not letting the intimidation and
sinister nature of the diseases get to him.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
the same old line jumps off my tongue
hi, how are you
i'm fine, how are you?
i'm well, thank you
this time,
there is a pause
the old man looks at me
his skinned is tanned as a hide
but not as wrinkled as some
you can see through his blue eyes
his spirit lurks close to the surface of his eyes
they seem to contain a whirlwind of white clouds and sky
his gray hair is quite dark and shiny
it lays in columns on his head
combed to perfection
we're both lying the old man says quietly
i look up
surprised that someone would question my honesty
i really am well i tell him how are you lying?
i just got out of chemotherapy
he tells me this matter of factly and i feel slightly awkward as i look up at him from my work
i'm sorry. your hair looks great.
thank you.
your total is 53.54. i hope you have a good day.
thank you. the same to you.
the conversation was over
and i will never see the old man with cancer who came through my check out line ever again
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 9:41 PM UTC
I remember when I saw you
for the first time years ago
You brushed me off without a glance
I thought "that's someone I should know"
Time went by and walls came down
I softened your demeanor
It took some work, but I won out
Because, hell...you couldn't get much meaner
A first is always tougher
No matter what it is you do
But, each first is well worth living
If I can have my first with you
A few months in another first
You met my folks and friends
when I brought you to that birthday do
The one I wished would never end
You took your time and wore me down
Another first came soon
I remember how your body shone
All sweaty 'neath the moon
A first is always tougher
No matter what it is you do
But, each first is well worth living
If I can have my first with you
We married six months after that
In a year our first was born
I can't remember which one cried the most
You, or our baby, just new born
Our first house came, we bought a dog
Things were off and at full speed
But with all of our achievements
You were the one thing I'd still need
A first is always tougher
No matter what it is you do
But, each first is well worth living
If I can have my first with you
We opened up our business
The first of many more to come
It wasn't that successful
but it was still our number one
I remember that day's phone call
The doctor said "I've bad news for you"
He told me of the tumour
I'd passed first and was stage two
Through radiation and my chemo
You were the one who was always there
I remember when you came in
And you had shaved off all your hair
A first is always tougher
No matter what it is you do
But, each first is well worth living
If I can have my first with you
I've been gone now for a while
I know it's tough, but I'm around
I can see you and our child
Even though I'm in the ground
There'll be more firsts now together
I know it just won't be the same
But, still it's firsts and your'e together
Like when we first played out this game
A first is always tougher
Even though it's not with me
But, each first is well worth living
Just make it the best that it can be
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 7:25 PM UTC