The word became the mantra of
her last few years, which were, in fact,
often disconcerting: her descent
into dementia, her cancer diagnosis,
her fall, her fractured hip.
The house of healing is crystalline, clean
as the diagram of a carbon molecule drawn
With a laser beam on one facet of a diamond.
A knows of B
That after grim chemo his hair came back
The doctors reckoned they’d licked his disease
It is the month of our first walk along the salt
shore together, and of my beloved’s first illness,
harbinger of worse to come, month of our lost
mortgage, of bankruptcy, August of learning
The pink half-gown is tied wrong.
I can’t figure out the strings.
My nipples are hard in the
fluorescent waiting room.
This is what the tumor had done,
reduced the whole world to nothing
I think of the way she knew
that eels slid from brook to brook
and then to the sea.
I keep trying to persuade my father
into a better opinion of me now that he is dead.
A BRIEF RESPITE FROM THE USUAL PERCEPTUAL DIVIDES: AFTER CHEMO I SKI THROUGH THE VERMONT WOODS IN ANOTHER CLIMATE CHANGE STORM
presses each broken thing like an autumn leaf between pages where I watch the pace of disintegration, lacy residue. Rain writes within it a sloppy welter—the neighbor shaking her … Continue reading
this time a slow- growing rarity tracing delicate tendrils through kidney and liver, the lung’s sturdy wall, artery somewhere I can’t remember, though twice I’ve been told. How the mind … Continue reading