wellness

a little procedure

the pen slipped when
the phone chimed. 
the voice of the nurse
calmed then surprised. 
it’s your turn,
she said,
follow me to the back. 
at first
he didn’t
and she didn’t
respond to that. 
instead,
he held her hand
in a way that 
seemed to say
‘remember’. 
remember the infinite 
that brought us together. 
remember our promise 
to laugh afterwards no matter the pressure. 
remember we choose 
our forever. 
remember we were good 
before we met. 
and 
remember, he said to the nurse, neither of us are ready 
to leave just yet.

metricks

stats are 
traps

that

make attacks
from 
our gaps. 

we travel
and
we trip

over rolls
and flats

trying
to max

our

forward movement
forgetting that
our fears

always

for-warn
the past. 

esteem is
made trash. 

hope 
seems rash. 

heart can
get
so broke
no cast

can bring
it back

to life. 

same oath
same path

same toasts
same ghosts

same boast-

those that
can, 

act. 

that’s 
their
test. 

those that won’t
change,

brag. 

and 
then
count
their
steps.

nearmiss

I almost died...
who says that and means it?

After a long draw on 
his diet coke
he dead-eyes me with-
no one knows what that means.

He is smiling 
and chewing
on a double bacon burger.

I can see the hinge
of his jaw and the bowl
of his cheek work
the beef and grease.

Muscles spasm
slightly under greyish 
skin, his hands
hurt,

chemo does that.

Who says that and really knows for sure?

This is his version
of bon vivant
sarcasm.

I agree in my head,

conversations 
with my father
swing this way 
every time
lately.

I suggest salad.

I'm not sick, he says.

I hug too lightly.

I'm not delicate, he says.

I am quiet.

I. Am. Not. Dead. Yet.
He pronounces 
with both 
definition and 
prognostication.

My mom binds his
days with balms
and emotional buffers
drenched in 
apologetic overbearing
caretaking.

Though
he tries,
he usually 
can't leave 
the house fast enough
and hesitates
in the car
at drop off.

Cancer 
and it’s 
multiplying minions, 
lurk at the edges
of our visits.

We name it,
call it out,
offer it a seat
at the bar
beside us.

We talk over it,

We laugh at it.

My dad mentions
that he will probably
barf later, then jokes-
give me an hour then we can go out for pizza.

In his world you die 
or you don't,

any bridge
of indecision
was washed out 
the moment
of diagnosis.

And living 
means swimming
in the turbulent
eddies of 
the in-between.

He always seemed 
confident 
that he could wash up
on the right side
of the riverbank.

Order onion rings, he says.
Then we will go see a movie.

He always 
pays the bill
and says- 
you'll get the next one.

orbit

  twshhhhhhh

         wshhhhhhh

thoughts go out
  twshhhhhhh

and return
         wshhhhhhh

eager tides
  twshhhhhhh

help me learn
         wshhhhhhh

feelings need
  twshhhhhhh

space to churn
         wshhhhhhh

when I feel
  twshhhhhhh

not enough,
         wshhhhhhh

overwhelmed
  twshhhhhhh

life's too tough
         wshhhhhhh

smiling wide
  twshhhhhhh

feeling rough
         wshhhhhhh

I was taught
  twshhhhhhh

by the sea
         wshhhhhhh

another wave
  twshhhhhhh

will soon be
         wshhhhhhh

on its way
  twshhhhhhh

back to me.
         wshhhhhhh


twshhhhhhh

         wshhhhhhh

the impossibility of quiet

It has a texture, a dust
residue. 

Like a reminder after the too loud moment

or like the space between the fall and the tears. 

It has a gravity,

like the falling feeling as air escapes the room

or an ombré filled space where you once were. 

It is volume,

like the empty cup you keep overfilling with chatter

and the sound as another command hits the floor. 

It is fear,

like the moment after the bump in the night

or listening to you lightly breathing, but actually checking proof of life. 

It is familiar,

like watching a thing long enough to behold it

or like our hands falling into a folded resting form. 

It is the thing you crave, then a thing you fear. 

It elevates will. 

It antagonizes while you await results.  

It takes a beat before expecting to be noticed. 

It is the moment just before acceptance. 

It is the disturbed air warning as the subway shoots past. 

It is indecision between two emotions, fear and excitement, because they both feel the same in my body.

And sometimes, sometimes, it is the sleepy gaze from my cat atop the couch.