Tag: illness

Watery Stagnation

Knee-deep wading
in electric yellow waters
of mud-laden stream

the coveted prize –
a mutated version –
Christ’s fish hovers

arms reach away –
have touched it –
recoiled out of fear.

Status is stagnation –
movement stymied
current lacking

Only the constant
thrum of winged
pests belligerence

punctures stillness,
irritates – its hard
shelled turquoise

body reminiscent
of Halcyon days,
Caribbean sunsets.

What evil virus has
cemented me here,
strangled nomadic

dreams, mired me
in polluted waters
imbued with cruel

uncertainty, faith-
less, immobilized
by incomprehensible?

(Watery Stagnation first appeared in August, 2016, and is edited here.

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The Queen Is Missing

She’s not in the kitchen
presiding over preparations,
thriving amidst the chatter,
tutting away thieving fingers.

She’s not in the classroom,
mastering subjects,
upholding order,
ruling with charitable hand.

Nor is she at social affairs,
head bent in rapt attention,
smiling cordially,
gracious with compassion.

The Queen is missing –
the poise and composure
that marked her carriage
has vanished without a trace.

Don’t ask the old woman
tottering down the lane,
stooped and stumbling –
she’s not all there.

Her mind’s a trickster,
her ego a petulant child,
unwilling to concede wrong –
she’s merely the court jester.

(The Queen is Missing first appeared August of 2015.)

 

All But Comatose

If death is sleep
then surely I am close –
body leaden
refuses to budge,
brain a slow crawl

I would feel something –
remorse, fear, confusion –
but the weight of slumber
has numbed senses,
reaction sludge

only a drum, drum
of heart harkens
life’s continued spark –
What thread of will
keeps me hanging on,
surely sleep preferable?

(Myalgic Encephalomyelitis is characterized by exhaustion after exertion.  The fatigue is systemic. )

Even Trees Fall

Majesty is a tree
quiet strength
and vulnerability

no more sheltered
from acts of nature
than I – none

impenetrable,
although youth
believes it –

days when strength
equates with rigidity,
resistant arrogance

A right fighter, was I,
iron will, in control –
never measuring up

such foolish nonsense –
destructive, no doubt,
took illness to educate

recognize courage in
withdrawal, merits
of inviting understanding

physical limitations
birth potential –
gracious acceptance

surrender of struggle
open, vulnerable,
rooted, like a tree.

The Toll

Am not the woman my children once called Mother –
can see the disappointment in their anger-blotched
expressions, feel the constraint in their voices –

distance between us tugs on my heart, plays with
my conscience, as if illness is choice – a contrived
plot to rob them of their expectations –

hope they can forgive me before it’s too late;
hope they can forgive themselves.

Discord

Does illness have a voice,
and if so; is it melancholy,
or dark and dank, divulging
deepest despair, or revealing
a vileness of nature?

Discord creeps along my veins,
disrupts muscles, systems failing
under the oppression –
“Stay strong,” friends counsel,
cannot hear the gathering storm,
feel the heaviness cloaking me.

I am not myself, but then;
who am I?  Is disease a mutation
of the original sin – punishment
for fatal sins, or  redemption
wrapped as trial – the whispers
gain clarity – I am faltering…

(Written for Reena’s Exploration challenge:  featured image as prompt.)

Sleeping Alone

Sleeping alone
with so much intrusion –

child born of good intentions
awash in a trail of barricades

I cope, cook up breezes, strike
wet ground – stuff myself to satiate

the onslaught, ground rapidly shifting –
Earth Mother exerting presence –

too stubborn, I turn away, look for
God but my cup keeps moving –

I am unreachable, charmed by
a broken tale, aimless, oppositional

overwhelmed – cry out but absence
holds no listeners – need adhesive

to fix this urgency – a peerless torrent –
if only I could simply these wounds

find a stopgap – emotion overflows,
exerts turmoil, sorrow replaying

sleep offers no repair, alone,
tormented by the issue at hand.

(Every so often, I revisit old poems and revise.  Sleeping Alone first appeared here in December of 2017, when I was still in the throes of severe illness.  I’ve come along way and it’s good to look back and see the progress. I am also linking this up to my weekly challenge, reaching.)

Maybe

Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
willed a horizontal shift, landed with intent.

Maybe it is not my legs that are disabled,
but a soul longing to escape the continual
discord of perpetual motion, a never-ending
to-do list of the success driven persona.

Maybe there is a greater purpose for being
that is not encompassed by outer drive –
a mysterious meaning that is revealed only
in the quiet stillness in which I now dwell.

Maybe I have been called to a personal
pilgrimage – a Camino of sorts, a crusade
of spirit designed to cleanse and enlighten –
the journey is certainly arduous enough.

Maybe it is through acceptance, finally
having released  a need to control, move,
achieve, accomplish that I am able to
embrace the true lessons of suffering.

Maybe this cocooning is an act of Grace
demanding surrender before the actual
transformation occurs, and I will emerge
legless or not, winged and ready to soar.

Maybe, just maybe, this stripped down,
barren existence is not a penance for
shameful living, but a desert crossing,
offering re-alignment, hard-fought peace.

(Maybe first appeared here in February of 2017, three years into my journey with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.  I am posting it today as it fits with this week’s theme: upside-down.  Image is the mirror reflection of trees across the canal – from personal collection)

The Same, But Broken

Fragility blindsides –
I am woman.
Strong.

Courageous, some say –
a sentiment beyond my reach
having not chosen this state.

Fragility is pervasive –
body reduced to miniscule fibers,
stretched, torn, bordering
on broken.

Overwhelmed, mind obsesses –
will neither organize
nor let go…

If only I could let go…

I am weeping
and not

Weeping from frustration –
immediate impossibility –

Unwilling to weep for totality of loss –
it is beyond me.

Illness is regarded
with disgust,
indifference,
repulsion

There is no equality for the disabled

And, yet…

Rawness –
stripped of busy-ness –
renders me as any other

A soul yearning for a meaningful existence.

Maybe illness is the great equalizer.

(The Same, But Broken was first written in December of 2014, when I suffered from severe Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.  It is revised here.)