Sanctuary
I'm a blondish plucked chicken
underneath my burgundy scarf
though I thought I was bold and tough
when I cut my hair short weeks ago
ready with wigs and peacock-bright coverings
until the last wisps started their heartless descent
and I wept, sprawled on the bathroom floor
waiting my turn, I sit
on the leather chair
magazines unopened on my lap
admitted by default to this curious flock
a sorority I never wanted to join
quietly chirping in different languages
draped in cottons, silks, perky knits
exotic birds in festooned plumage
we steal wary glances at one another
bald beautiful birds shorn to their essence
stoic smiles, jutting cheekbones, haunted eyes
a thirty-something with a hennaed pate sits to my left
proud and elegant, so cool and hip
until she cries, comforted by her mom
I sigh; she is too young for all of this
name called, ID checked again
my chemo cocktail prepared
I play my Indigo Girls and close my eyes
I see the others in the room we share
connected to the tubes
tied to each other by strings of understanding
the red poison drips relentless
hopeful birds we are all
sometimes we chat
sometimes we huddle quietly under warm blankets
tended to by nurses, family and friends
we hover bravely
not knowing what tonight or tomorrow may bring
praying we will soar again
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Author's Note
This is a poem which came out of my cancer journey. Writing poetry and keeping a blog was very helpful for me. This poem was published in "Dreamer's Magazine. A prose version of it was also published in "Instant Noodles." I dedicate this poem to all of you who have been on this journey or know someone who is currently fighting cancer.
Bringing the real news all need to know. Moving, precisely described, this sorority, this grounded brave flock.
Brave, you stand, but not alone, never alone.
"bald beautiful birds shorn to their essence"
"sometimes we huddle quietly"
with you.
A horror hen coop. Thinking of you in the midst of your exotic colours and share your pain. Courage.
"we hover bravely"
Just saw Stephen Colbert ask Jody Foster what happens after we die and she said she liked the idea of hovering. I like it too. I know you mean something different here, but maybe the hovering is the same?
Very honest and big kudos to you for writing such an excellent poem under such duress. "the red poison drips relentless" is a really strong line, among many others.