My morning flow separated into two poems. Yesterday is still with me, though I also have moved through it to a peaceful place of understanding. I find the gift in it, and the gift for me, is rich. I am wealth today!
Morning After Third Chemo Treatment
this morning, refreshed,
from understanding the storm I viewed,
and how I was affected by another’s tears -
I seemed unable to separate her response from my own -
I go there determined to be cheerful,
for myself and those who surround -
I don’t feel it as forced cheer -
I feel it as positive to connect with myself,
before the procedure begins,
before my veins are probed three times, and the first drip hangs
from its stand.
They watch us closely - three nurses for six people,
though for the holidays, they have added an extra chair,
and are concerned on to handle seven, or maybe eight.
I know it looks odd, all of us attached to our stands,
and our dripping strands. Some have hair,
and some don’t. Some are wan, and sleep.
Some look about. I am very curious about this place,
and I do look about. I feel like I am the birds I am watching
out the window, sweeping and swirling my eyes.
What is in this hunt for me?
Sometimes I feel the birds and I are just enjoying
the wind, the water, the play.
Someone placed a huge red heart in a window across the way.
I like to imagine that person. I wonder if they know
how kindly it is viewed, how much it means.
Do they know we are here with nothing to do,
but watch? Absorb? Be?
This is the gift, the watching and participating
by choosing just what to bring to see.
Day After Chemo
I feel anchored this morning.
My angels have left my shoulders
and are probing all around,
checking everything out.
I never realized that angels are mechanics.
They carry little tool kits tucked under their wings,
and they are pounding and tweaking
every little thing.
How fun it is to be checked out by angels.
I am as enchanted as I can be,
and I feel myself fluffed and fluffy
and light, and grounded in the delight
of being so joyfully, playfully me.
I shake my shoulders and they peal
like twinkling bells
in the opening hood of light