Failing

Necessary evil, failure.  
Learning from mistakes
Like lying and broken bones
The body breaks down
And cries for more.
In this case tears
Hung high inside a bag
Delivered through a tube
Poking into my chest
Plugged in with a needle.
Giggling to myself
“Not a nipple”
Laughters ripple effect
Spans out amongst the others
And now everyone’s
Going to get in trouble.

But it’s my fault
No one but me
Got me in this mess,
Or have they? Because
It’s an art:
Learning recreational
Cursing, lying and
Running away from home.
My growling hunger
Turns to fear.
That’s where
Boredom hides.
As we seek home again
The place one cannot return.
Like a library book
With a Dewey decimal card
I’m no longer on file.
Suppose I stole the title.

Before dark I’m matchless
With no anger left to burn
So I return to
Changing names
But face hardly look the same.
New people new names.
Strangers turn me away
That crazy woman’s back
She doesn’t live here
Not anymore.
The address I remember:
Only my own body.
Dirty gray cumulus clouds
Reach the places where
Shame grows. Right there
On the test not surprisingly
Cirrus streaking
Shocking the dusk
Into color of embarrassment and
Of cheeks slapped pink
For blue words
We try on for fit
But they fall off of our
Small bones too big
To not know
To small to talk shit.

Instead of daisies
In my mind the
Fertile soil hardened
Into my imagination now
Rusty colored clay.
Growing up worthy of
A head, once
Covered in hair
Jumping on a trampoline
Without a net
Be cautious of curls.
Now straight as
a cactus prickly as
a crown of new cowlicks
The color of
shock and shame.
Green and indigo
But not what I thought
Just a day ago.

Everyday failure:
Unthreaded needles
Stocking runs unearned
Continue up the thigh
Showing the quality
Of bare legs
With purple webs
Becoming ugly
And weak.
Sometimes my mistakes
Weigh like
Lead sinks, an umpire
Metal but not much ore
Certainly no gold or platinum.
My pick axe and
Shovel, sieve ad
Headlight
Mocking the brave
Fish that live in
Darkness so ink black
They willed themselves
A headlamp on
Their hard hats. Darwin
Had his way of
Plumbing the breaches of
My Grace in the name
Of the father who
Died with experience
My tribe hid
It’s treasure in
Broken Russian birds.
My genes unzipped
Finally to reveal
The ladder had fallen
Apart at the rung
Where I slipped.

Principally, I deserve
No less than
Expulsion from the school
Of this life and
Of the race of humans.
I have lost.

I’m Finally Vaccinated, Let’s Go Out Today!

You’re diagnosed with a terminal illness and you must ask yourself the following question: what would you do differently in your life or change about your life so If any week might be your last you’d be happy with it or at the very least okay with that week?

I asked my husband this very question. To which he reacted with a sense of injustice. “That’s not a fair question.”

I don’t agree. No, every day isn’t a great day…that much is true.

Here’s a snippet of an argument:

Unappreciative ass

Harsh realities too bad

I’m having a lot of trouble with this, hon, can’t we just talk?

You’re in no position to just talk. You’re not supporting us.

He needs to be on stronger depression medications just to simply be around me

I’m getting worse to be around

But I am great to be away from yet he wouldn’t be with me if I weren’t sick.

He can’t stand to be around me, lately.

And has no idea why I’m even with him.

But…We get along. Seriously.

Foundations

However, built upon the foundation of modern western culture insure to that. Due to no fault of our own all of us were born into a time of rampant materialism. Noting we buy delivers on its promise of satisfaction. There’s the cliché small print that spells out a guarantee of no satisfaction. What it does guarantee: you’ll never see any money back should anything go awry. A broken warranty means simply using the product breaks the rules.

I’m broken. He cannot return me to a store, although I suppose he could leave me. But what a mess. And I still take care it so much for him, he cries occasionally: what will I do without you! Meaning -my cooking, my housekeeping, my all embracing hugs, my laundry prowess.

A manufacturer’s guarantee is akin to cancer in some ways. By living in our bodies with the environment at a time of great threat to its mere existence, we are swimming in chemicals and stress and we’ve not evolved to handle it nor should we.Read this article from Commonweal regarding reduction of chemicals in our environment.

Susceptible to Infections

The point I’m trying to get across is that by merely living in a physical body we are very highly susceptible to illness and specifically cancer. The warranty on our physical body while living in the post industrial, sedentary, sugar infused world with melting ice caps and chemicals in our air, water, and food there’s no guarantee of any kind.

With that in mind, ask yourself what would you do differently if anything given your own personal special circumstances even if you’re not hiding “a cancer” if you were to be diagnosed with a terminal illness? By the way, I deplore that phrase – the article in front of cancer removes it from our body’s boundaries giving it a life of sorts.

But hey, don’t worry.
Be happy. The year now 2021 – and now we’ve come so far as to have lived through a pandemic that’s still the bane of many an MBC enduerer’s existence (not to leave out anyone who’s also got a terminal illness but we tend to swim with our own kind when we are diagnosed for the shorthand we develop for quick understanding like chemo brain, and well, I forget the rest but you get my point).

Caught in a trap…suspicious minds

Trapped at home, through no fault of our own, due to our battered immune systems we wait out our turns for a vaccine. A shot or two developed so quickly it makes one think about our diseases. What the hell is taking so long to develop drugs to keep us chronic and alive a la AIDS, rather than becoming terminally ill upon diagnosis. Kept further apart from humanity again because of an incurable, rather painful disease.

As March roars for its wintery last puffs of snow coming this week, I recover from my recent covid19 vaccine. In hindsight I hope my appreciation for the life that cancer helped me find enough foresight to live in this moment in a way that’s just right for me. And I got the vaccine knowing it could have demanding physical repercussions.

I dodged that bullet. I’m fact having a break from my daily Verzenio – and my red blood cells began repopulating my bloodstream giving me back some of my energy. But I can’t overdo it. My tummy began filling up with ascites (see a few posts in this blog by searching up Ascites in the search tool right here.)

Stuck in the middle with you

So this will suck again. My pants are tight, I’m feeling uncomfortable and my feet are swelling. If you have ever been blown up like a waterbed, the draining process is exactly like it. But of course I’ll keep you posted – PET Scan next week – oh joy, head to toe and the anxiety It will bring over potential brain Mets.

Isn’t that what we all worry about when we get a head to toe scan? Those horrible metastases that could possibly go to our brains? The ones that we fear the most? Although medical science has come quite far and the cyber knife as well as other ablative mechanisms take care of them quite well. In fact better than mets that travel to most of the other organs are bodies. So nothing to worry about.

Right?

Findness

“Let go of your ego.
Send it up up and away!
For a while, anyway.”
Opening my each
Of my eyes I wonder
Did anyone even notice
I’d gone up
Ascending into the clouds
Like a bird or a plane.
I’m looking down
At unmapped topography.
Memories of me:
Images of a wolf running
Through unknown forests
Below the tree canopy;
A blue heron
Flying from the pine tops
Without much energy.

Alone I melt
Like ice cream
In a root beer float.
Red polkadot swim suit,
Yellow rubber bathing cap
Careful eyes look out
Upon blue pools.
Back in the days
When the evening news
Was on paper and
When a date meant
Sipping from the same
Soda with two straws
Across a white and
Gold booth table.
As our eyes lock over the
Last sip, how the
Sweetness lingers
At the tips of your
Tongue and fingers.

I search for my
Self in the daily mirror
But the image is
Backwards and not
Of me. So I peek behind
The frame for a part
Of myself I’d left for dead.
Forgetting to write up
The homework of my experience
Innocence in ink,
Double spaced on lined paper:
My interview and questions.
I won’t forget to
Acknowledge and thank
you in my notes.
But the postcards sit
Unstamped and unposted
I’m at home, heart forever
Elevated above my head.