I think
of you often
Every
other day, mostly. These are shower days - cleansing rituals
I think
of you
Mothers,
daughters, grandmothers
Women
Stepping
into the steam with me
I wonder
About
your
Stories
Are you
tired?
I never
imagined so many things
So many things
At 40 I imagined 45 to look so
different. I had just found the love of
my life
The love of my second chance at life. I imagined so many new and
wonderful things
Running the back roads
of Wisconsin, canoeing the endless water ways that make up the BWCA
Coffee
shops, art, travel
Making love
I never
imagined getting sick. No one does, really. We give it patronage like a Hallmark
greeting card
Understanding it on a poetic level. Giving gratuitous sentiments
like we’ve walked even one mile
But
We don’t
know. We don’t imagine, really
I didn’t
Imagine
Something
as simple as taking a shower. Rationing
out the days. This is what I do. As if it all stops if I just don’t think
about it
Or maybe it really is just too hard. It takes too long
Taking a
shower
When you’re
losing your hair
I just
never
Imagined
Vanity of
vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities
All is
vanity
Why can’t
I be bigger than this?
This
thing that insists on
Taking
Taking
Taking
I stand
face up
Hot water
flowing down my body
I watch
the drain
As if
this baptism
Slides
down my shins and slips between my toes
Down
And
Away
Soap alludes
Some sort
of
Cleansing
A ritual
of sorts. Lather makes things slippery.
I brush my fingers through my hair. The first few strokes are the worst
Hair
winds around my palms, wraps around my fingers like spun wool on spindles
Pull
I tell
myself
Pull
Not yet
Pull
As the
hair falls freely. Letting go of me. I
hold my hands up to the water, fingers down
And
Watch
As the fragrant
spume
Carries dresses
and patent leather shoes, pony tails and sparkly earrings, lipstick and sexy lingerie
Down
And
Away
Breathe
in the steam. I calm myself, let the water pour over my face
Breathe
Even though
each breath feels as though ten thousand were gasping to get out
Breathe
as I turn and spin and maneuver
Shifting here
and there so that the water can wash the hair off my shoulders
And arms
And back
And belly
And buttocks
And thighs
And calves
Stopping to
tangle around ankles and toes as if to say
I have
lingered not long enough, not long enough to
Prorogue the
pain of letting go, to delay this grief
It’s
sticky business, picking and pulling
Shifting and
rinsing, it never ends
Not until
I pile what’s left atop my head inside my white cotton turban
Do I feel
the satisfaction of
Moving on
Can I say
Enough
Can I
feel as though this soap
Somehow makes
me
Clean
Can I
step out onto this rug
And dry
what’s left of
Me
This
disease doesn’t take anything from me that 90 years does not take from
you
I've watched you grow old gracefully. I’ve admired your gray hair and your soft wrinkled skin
And I’ve been empowered by your inner beauty. Your radiance. The soft wisdom that passes your lips and finger tips
It comforts me
I've watched you grow old gracefully. I’ve admired your gray hair and your soft wrinkled skin
And I’ve been empowered by your inner beauty. Your radiance. The soft wisdom that passes your lips and finger tips
It comforts me
It makes a path in the deepest forest
of my being. A place of gentle knowing. A field for rest
A
settling
I never
imagined getting sick
I never
imagined
Pain
I never imagined
Letting
go
And yet
I never
imagined
You
In all
your
Grace and
loveliness
I think
of you
Now
You mothers,
daughters, grandmothers
Women
Who have
come to the last chapters of your story
By age
By disease
By death
But
By letting
not what lacks define you
Not by
any letting go
But
By accepting
By accepting
What is
already
7 comments:
Accepting what is gone. Sometimes I know I cling so tightly like to a life raft adrift in this huge ocean. It is so very, very hard to let go to accept what is gone. I so loved this poem. It truly has hit a chord with me. Thank you.
Thank you, Deb. It IS about accepting what is gone. And the thing is - those external things - our homes, our "things" our outer beauty - our "looks"...these things were never ours to begin with. EVERYTHING eventually fades - illness, age, death...eventually ALL passes. It's the realizing this very fact - all we have is already gone - is what brings me incredible freedom. These "things" are not me, they were never me. Me is the person I hear in my head, my spirit, the person I have been since the beginning of time - THAT is me. And nothing on this earth diminishes that. Nothing.
I am so glad the poem spoke to you. It was such an important one for me to write.
A very moving poem, Theresa. Makes me want to curl up with a warm blanket, a mug of hot chocolate and take a deep breath.
I followed you over from Oriah's FB page discussion today.
Beautifully, exquisitely written. Thirty-four years ago today I was diagnosed with bone cancer as a teen. I remember what it's like...
Blessings on your journey...
mmmmm.....no words.
Prairie Star, thank you so much for following me over - and taking the time to peek into my life. I cannot imagine what you went through 34 years ago - but I can imagine the strength you must possess. 34 years ago... Peace to you, my friend. I am so honored.
That is beautiful...thank you x
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