CouTure du Jour

I am becoming more forgetful.

Friends laugh

tell stories about

misplaced keys

forgotten names.

A few gently ask if chemo did this to me.

My doctor refers me for an MRI.

You don’t understand.

For just one momentI forgot that Ihave/had/may have

cancer.

I have become a magician

watching in amazement

as fear disappears.

Sounds of audible delight escapeas the faint outline

of hope

materializes.

and as hope takes shape

remembering begins.

Worry lines etched deep in my face

As I wonder what I’m doing in this place

Tissue being torn in little ragged pieces

Pent up thoughts I’m now releasing.

Two short weeks ago things were just fine

Not a care in the world , feeling sublime

Then by accident I found that lump

Not really that big, merely a bump.

To be on the safe side, to the doctor I went

He probed and he frowned, I knew what that meant

He sat for a moment, stared straight ahead

I listened real close to the words that he said.

“It could just be a cyst, all fluid filled”

With those words my heart somewhat stilled

A malignant tumor it showed indeed

Growing with unbelievable speed

The hardest part is now the wait

Finding out what will be my fate.

If I believed in God’s power, perhaps I

could pray

To keep watch over me on that fearful day

When I find out where lays my fate

Hoping that it’s not too late.

I want the closeness of close,
Without being too close,
Close enough that if I try to run
You might notice,
Not close enough that you might
Actually catch me.

I want the warmness of warmth,
Without being too warm.
Warm enough that I never shiver
Around you,
Not warm enough that I’ll
Never feel cold again.

I want the loveliness of love,
Without falling.
Falling in love
And falling into a million billion kajillion pieces. 

(Source: howhighuntilheaven)

It’s a lot of work,
getting ready to die.
I don’t want to leave a big mess
for my loved ones to clean up.
Sorry enough the troubles I left
in their minds, all those bad memories,
like stacks of 33s and videotapes that
got wet in the flood, warped and
smelling of rot and earwigs.
They have digital copies but can’t shed the
old records, just in case.
I go through my things and fill the boxes –
Goodwill, Give Away, Garbage.
My buddy gets this pile,
sell the gym, who wants this desk,
get tires on the car,
write a maintenance schedule,
fix the refrigerator,
where is the living will,
where is the last will and testament,
are the bank records straight,
is the bill-paying routine clear?
And then I think, ‘What about
my remains, my funeral, I don’t want
to add a gritty pile of ash and bone
to the soggy messes
in the basements of those I love,
to the warped vinyl and the moldy papers.
Will I need special handling
because of all the chemo?
What can I do to save my love
from all the damage I’ve wrought?
I don’t have time,
I need more time,
please let me pile up
a little more time.

When u feel beneath it all.

like noone understands.

in a room jam packed, but ya vision all u see r blank walls

thats how i feel now.

Months later & i cant let u go.

my womb..

a place i refuse to lend another soul.

to the pair of hands i will never touch,

to the heart that will never pump.

i need u.

everyday the world is a darker place.

i refuse to try again.

— Nani Mariee*