Tuesday, April 7, 2015

poem of the day 04.07.15

mammogram after

it’s a shit morning in january
bright but it might be ten degrees out
i’m sitting on the edge of the coffee table
already dressed in my coat and hat
sweating as the radiator clinks
my wife is running around
she’s still getting herself together
we’ve made a pact not to talk
at least not until we’ve left the apartment
hoping maybe cooler heads will prevail
it’s the morning of the mammogramafter
the mammogram that sent us spinning
into six months of surgery, radiation
chemo threats, and a shitload of tears
i feel like we just got out of one war
and we’re about to enter another
really, we haven’t gotten out of anything
we get momentary reprieves in between doctor visits
i think i should be strong, positive
any other man would be strong on a morning like this
say something calming, soothing
say i’m sorry i’m not being there for you like i should
but i’m running scared and not moving
i’d hide underneath the couch if i could fit
i’ve run out of so many comforting words
that i’m going to have to start coming up with new ones soon
and my wife has heard more apologies from me for my negligence
then she’ll ever need in this lifetime
so i sit there on the edge of the coffee table
feeling bad for myself and only myself
dully watching our old, blind cat roam around the living room
in that same pattern that drives me nuts
take my hat off and wipe the sweat from my brow
as my wife comes in the room
with that ubiquitous blue medical folder in her hands
and says to me, you ready?
so quietly that it sounds like a bomb.


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