Cancer: Triptych
1. Shadows and Curtains
The day was sunny late August
and cars drove to locations
expecting to arrive without incident
and I arrived with no expectations
other than good checkup see you next year
then the shadow arrived and my destination
changed and lanes swerved and cars crashed
in my life and I entered a shadow
Each day before was like a curtain
opening to applause and lights shone
and we readied to deliver our lines
to take our places on stage
then the curtain came down the doctor
saying I've got bad news showing me the
Xray my eyes seeing the disease my
mind curtained in its shadow
I feel its presence I know it's there
but time and care and persistence and
endurance and character and strength
raised the curtain and swept the shadow
offstage, but waiting
2. Scar
The scar has not healed. I see it every day.
I feel it every way I move, every time I think,
every moment I hope for a future.
It lurks like a specter, this scar, a glare that hurts
my eyes when I look at my children, my grandchildren.
It hurts like a scalpel, this scar, slicing through
my life before, my life now, the swollen skin
a demarcation so that I see
my skin as a parchment calendar scribing
who I was and who I am.
It reads like a road map, this scar, and though
it came from pain, it becomes today,
the person I am, it leads to tomorrows,
the life I'll live, stronger.
The scar has not healed.
I am healing around its wound.
3. Still, Always
It's been 19 years since I said
I've got it the mammogram a spider's web
of diseased fear threatening like razors
slicing veins like veins ripped through skin
our family shredded our life as we knew it
a window cracked the glass shards splintering
and then surgery then chemo then radiation
then rehab for 19 years each day a step
through the splintered glass a cut here a cut there
the scars changing from angry red to reminder purple
to memory pink defeated but still on my skin, always
