Not Dead Yet

There is safety in apart-ment living;
would corral the little ones, declare
responsibility, obligations as a mask
for this self-banishing compulsion…

except that I am lying prone, exposed –
brains spilling onto concrete – shadows
revealing the darkness of my condition,
hopelessly locked in physical inertia.

I am an unwitting contributor to
scientific (and pseudo) probing:
audacious autopsies pronouncing
conclusive evidence of motives.

Too polite (and weakened) to deflect,
I submit, demonstrating complacency,
sacrificing autonomy; fail to assert
that it is I who is taking this life test.

And, by the way, am passing quite
adequately, which defies all rational
diagnosis and prognosis, and serves
to reassure me of ultimate success.

(Not Dead Yet first appeared here June, 2016. Image my own.)

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VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

21 thoughts on “Not Dead Yet”

  6. A powerful poem, VJ. The struggle and emotion came through loud and clear. And I love the contrasting strength and assertion in the last paragraph. That made me want to get up and cheer you on. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Your brilliant poem totally resonates with me, and my 3 recoveries from my 3 strokes … no … “I’m dead yet” … and this stanza said it all for me V.J.
    “except that I am lying prone, exposed –
    brains spilling onto concrete – shadows
    revealing the darkness of my condition,
    hopelessly locked in physical inertia.”

    Liked by 1 person

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