I was diagnosed a year ago. All was clear yesterday at my appointment with my doctor. On the chest x-ray, I could see the wire that runs from my port to my heart .
I have been given two more months of freedom.
I am grateful, and humble, filled with hopes for a summer that includes sand and water, gardens, weeds, inchworms, bike-rides, tadpole chasing, and other appropriate summer past-times with my boys.
Variations in White
Variations in White
by Amy Unsworth
After the surgeon pulled back the white sheet, noted
the absence of stars on the night globe of the mammogram,
I had forgotten. I had stopped thinking of nudging aside
the shuffling generations ahead of me, pressed
at the station’s velvet ropes, queued for the sleeper.
When the cottonmouth rose from the creek’s mud
as my son waded bare limbed, I thought of only
the long length of days without him, of wearing
the lightning strike of his body’s passage on my skin.
When the shell of fever broke and he slept,
a newly hatched bantam, his hair a shock of wet feathers,
I laundered the soiled sheets by hand. The wash water —
tinged with soap and worry— sluiced, forgetful, through the pipes.
But now, the woman— whose wartime photograph
as a bride could pass as mine— unlatches the carriage door,
and settles down there on the satin with a bouquet of callas.
I am the brunette at rail side raising a handkerchief
and the woman who sits white headed, my fingers
pressed to the windowpane frosting over with stars.
-from the Hogtown Creek Review
by Amy Unsworth
After the surgeon pulled back the white sheet, noted
the absence of stars on the night globe of the mammogram,
I had forgotten. I had stopped thinking of nudging aside
the shuffling generations ahead of me, pressed
at the station’s velvet ropes, queued for the sleeper.
When the cottonmouth rose from the creek’s mud
as my son waded bare limbed, I thought of only
the long length of days without him, of wearing
the lightning strike of his body’s passage on my skin.
When the shell of fever broke and he slept,
a newly hatched bantam, his hair a shock of wet feathers,
I laundered the soiled sheets by hand. The wash water —
tinged with soap and worry— sluiced, forgetful, through the pipes.
But now, the woman— whose wartime photograph
as a bride could pass as mine— unlatches the carriage door,
and settles down there on the satin with a bouquet of callas.
I am the brunette at rail side raising a handkerchief
and the woman who sits white headed, my fingers
pressed to the windowpane frosting over with stars.
-from the Hogtown Creek Review
Welcome & Farewell
WELCOME:
Nate to the Three Candles Staff!
You can visit his blog here!
and
FAREWELL:
to my students and fellow graduate students! The semester is coming to a close very soon and my class met today as a whole for the last time. There are less than two weeks to go until final grades must be reported. I've had a great class of students this semester which made my transition back to the classroom that much easier. Two years really does pass quickly. It's a bittersweet time.
Nate to the Three Candles Staff!
You can visit his blog here!
and
FAREWELL:
to my students and fellow graduate students! The semester is coming to a close very soon and my class met today as a whole for the last time. There are less than two weeks to go until final grades must be reported. I've had a great class of students this semester which made my transition back to the classroom that much easier. Two years really does pass quickly. It's a bittersweet time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
