Realize hidden oddities.
Attract orbital bodies.
Finish the eighth course.
Utilize blunt force.
Down the whole bottle.
Open your sore throttle.
Drive the horses faster.
Submit to each and every disaster.
Delete each of the black spells words.
Toss up madrigal white birds.
Raise your boisterous heavy voice.
Leave to feast another’s choice.
Breathe in the swollen air your spoiling.
Surrender up your daily work and toiling.
Lay down slowly my friend,
Just breathe out its your end.
Hear the softly spoken whisper,
‘From each woman, my sister.’
A quick side note to The Sisters – this poem represents the sisterhood of all of us going through cancer. We’ve become a different species – although we’re not witches, we’re in some sense the women who wear the scarlet letter. Only this letter is “C.” It’s nothing we chose, but what’s been thrust upon us and weighted us down with so many changes, that the difficulty in understanding us our closest relatives even find, is the language we have that’s brand new with each diagnosis. I think we’re all there for one another, either in person or virtually through blogs such as mine and yours, or though groups we might meet up in, or even in line at the grocery store, where I’ve met more than my share of sisters. I think that my own step-sister became upset when she read this thinking it was about her…
…and I hope she never enters this reluctant cancer sisterhood. I hope one day there’s not a single woman left in this sisterhood.