COMING AROUND AGAIN--a poem for National Poetry Month

It has been almost 5 years since I began my battle with breast cancer. This poem for National Poetry Month looks back on that time and on other times before that when death was a possibility for me. One advantage of becoming an elder is that death is no longer the boogeyman, the monster in the closet.

This poem speaks to that love for life that keeps us clinging to the mortal realm, even as different aspects of our bodies weaken or begin to fail. It becomes possible to take the long look, and when that becomes possible, fear dissolves.

COMING AROUND AGAIN

Three years ago—three years of poison and desperate

positive thinking—they cut off my breast,

carving out the lymph nodes

of the underarm as well.

They left me with an ugly, puckered scar

14 inches long and 3 inches wide,

raised one-half to one inch high

along its length, and another

incision 3 inches below that scar

where a length of tubing inserted

into the chest drained

blood and lymph into an attached bag

for 3 ½ pain-filled, sleepless weeks.

Death has come looking for me before this

several times. I have always tricked her

into leaving me to my life a little longer,

Scheherazade putting the random scenes

of daily living into dramatic narrative,

heightening conflict and tension,

generating suspense, embellishing

dull parts to create more spark and excitement,

adding touches of humor to lighten the mood,

a story playing out in front of her

to which she needs to know the ending

before she brings down the final curtain.

I’ve grown familiar with Death’s face,

can read it to tell if I need to spice up the story

because she’s losing interest. Old friend

and familiar, she bears no horror for me any longer.

I have seen the long view through her eyes,

the sacred labyrinth of galaxies

spinning out of control throughout the universe

pulling apart in spiral motion, eternal

dissipation of energy rippling outward

with magic like the violent change brought

by tropical storm clouds seen from the air,

galactic snake coiling around stars and planets

and black holes whirling like water

down a drain, sucking all matter and energy

within reach, voracious maws, widdershins,

sunwise, ears of creation cocked

for the song, symphony, story, vining

through the nebulae, gathering tension

and force, the vast’s giant spring pulled taut,

ready to snap back into the kaleidoscope,

force of tornadoes, whirlwinds,

passing into the still eye surrounded

by the stomp dance of the stars,

Creator’s medicine wheel, coming,

going, bringing, leaving, giving, taking,

moving up and down around the spiral

of time, infinity’s tilt-a-whirl.

Remaining attached to this life, these loved people,

I have no wish to join the stardust spiral dance

of destruction and creation before I must.

I’ll stay here in this incarnation as long as I can,

loving this insane world’s dark and light moments

and the people, trees, birds around me, clinging

until the last to its chiaroscuro, yin and yang.

Still, I won’t fall screaming into the void

when my time is up. I’ve seen the wheel of fortune

that is the cosmos. Life is circular, grinding all of us

into crumbs of creation, raw material for new wonders.

I’ve promised myself and lovely bony Ms. Death

I will embrace my ride on the celestial merry-go-round.

But the story’s not over yet—there’s at least one more chapter

before the spectacular, mystifying, completely satisfying climax.

Published in Dark Sister (Mammoth Publications, 2018)