I Drowned

In the bog I lay

Sinking deeper into sludge

Wrapped in silt and mud

Dampened by these roots and reeds

Birds on rushes singing dirge

A heron standing vigil on the shore

I sing I scream no longer

Muted underwater

Dragonflies dancing in the air

Above me darting daring

And deeper dreaming me

Opens eyes which cannot see

I’m made of clay and squirming things

Becoming grass and greener springs

Returned to source and sourceless born

Alive and dead and

Dead alive

My spirit mired in weighted worries

Sending up a single shoot

Without the mud no blooming blossomed

This concentrated beauty bridging

Otherworld and worldly others

Unfolded petals worshipping the sun

Floating on serenity and calm

I was undone

Shaped and molded

Celestial bonded

Seeking heaven

Rising from this shrouded wetland

Just to hold your hand

Just to hold your hand

white flower on body of water
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Buried Alive

There’s a moment of desperation

When it all goes awry

A breakneck pace of events

Wondering

Will you live or

Will you die

Inevitable

Of course

A chance encounter

Might brush one off the path

Without warning

And yet

That stark clarity

Ultraviolet black light

Superimposition

Wreath while waiting in between diagnostic tests

Adrenaline rush

Of an intruder within

One’s own body

Sacred

Terms of terror

Biopsy

Will you live or die

Heads or tails

And how does one prepare

To say those

Words to family and friends:

“I’ve been caught out with a fatal condition

(LIFE)

with no cure and no hope but for a painless end.”

~ diagnosed to die
Waiting with a wall quilt

And to feel like I’ve

Let them down

And failed somehow

To survive another chapter and that

The writer of my life

Has no mercy

Is killing the character

I had loved to hate and

Hated to love

The character I learned to

Cherish and value

And yet here we were

We were buying burial plots

And stitching a shroud

Of memories for the end

Images were taken of

My insides inside out

Technicians tears and mine

Were mingled in the doubt

This year spent shielded

From the virus

Only to be vaccinated

And find death sneaking

In a back door left

Unguarded

In the waiting room. It would be good news, but we didn’t know that yet

How death cheated I supposed

How apropos I figured

Because again I felt

That precious wonder in

Each breath

I want to live

I want to live

And all those images

Would say that

There’s a small suspicious spot

It’s early

No matter if the worst

Case comes to pass

You’ve got this and it

Feels just like

A second chance

Life is short, and we never know, really, how short it will be

My good friend went with me to the urgent care, and to the stat diagnostic appointment the next morning. The period between the initial visit and the test results were fraught with tension, grief, preparation, and panic. The nurse, doctors, technicians were all compassionate, caring, and made this process less isolating than it could have been. A later appointment with the surgeon confirmed a probable positive prognosis. There still may be a significant journey ahead, but my chances are good, and I am grateful for that.

In addition to that, I am making some big life changes – in the middle of moving back to a place a used to live. I’m shedding all of my possessions but what fits into two car loads. The rest I have been, and am still, giving away. What I bring back into my life will be carefully evaluated for usefulness and beauty and character.