She stares down the barrel against her will,
The doctors’ coats are too white and pierce her vision,
Nurses’ words are hushed, whispered and coated thickly with sugar,
Operation, knives, gurney rolling under a sick fluorescent ambience,
Common, routine for them….gut-wrenching fear for her,
Will scars enhance the outer beauty or inner?
The clock ticks down to the verdict,
A lone human peering at the tissue under the scope will tell the tale,
The course of a life possibly altered within a cell,
A young woman laments,
A young mother cries while the little one sleeps,
A young wife clutches the hand of the one vowed to her in sickness and in health,
She lied to them when she uttered, “I’m not afraid”,
The idea of suffering…not death….keeps her awake,
Moments of no particular consequence is what she will miss,
Driving barefoot with the window down, radio up…
Shading her eyes to watch her baby dance in the sun…
The last hour of work when all are in cheerful conversation…
Sunday morning coffee, newspaper, rumpled pajamas…
At times, she rallies,
At times, she hits her knees,
Sweet mercy for the child who must, god willing, watch her grow old,
Sweet mercy for the man who strokes her hair,
Sweet mercy for the woman who is…..afraid.
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Mercy is often under-rated and especially by those who will need it most.
I like your poem, sensitive.
[edit on 15-11-2006 by clearwater]
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Thanks for the kind words clearwater.....
I wrote this a few days before I had surgery thinking I had cancer. Probably the most intense, personal piece I have ever put to words.
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Nicely worded, well thought out and put together. The subject matter was something different, something away from the usual darkness released that
everyone else is doing.
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