To See Her Through

The doctors made another grand assumption.
Cancer, a malignancy, they said.
She ate the bread and drank the wine again.
The spirit world burgeoned there,
within her living veins.

Surgery - the ultimate exposure.
Apostrophes inserted in the text.
Her tired heart, the need to chart
a course back to the path of youth
again - or so they claimed.

And then the radiation treatments.
Leaving her so lost and all alone
inside her heart. The treatments
were more painful than her
ever-living death.

Exposed and disregarded.
With a loss of self-respect.
They treated her as if she
were no more than just a mess
of little particles of patricide.

While deep within, maternal instincts
sought to fight the spells of schemes
created in their scientific hell.
The incubus, once born anew,
must find a way to life's surrendering.

Yet they kept telling her that she must
fight again. No matter how exhaustion
came to blend and overtake the energy
she used to live. While still, she wished
a tiny bit of just a little love into her life.

First round of treatments finished,
a respite. And she tried so hard
to get back to her life. A little world,
filled with an immensity of memories
of love. Two years went by, and
then a third. And she'd almost
lost the fear they'd given her.

When suddenly, an overwhelming
pain began to make its way into her
flesh again. This time at the level
of bones, reaching core. Within
her intellect, she spied that great beginning
of the end she must reach for. And yet
her soul refused to just be spent upon
a diagnosis born of only man.

So close to giving up, she lay
upon a foreign bed. Unable then
to even reach the phone or just a friend.
Their treatments seemed to leave
her so much closer to her end.
She made it through, just by a thread,
and all the love her daughter offered her.

She couldn't quite believe she'd made it home.
For she was living in a misty twilight zone.
Suspended there, between the here and now,
and the unknown that slowly drew her
to itself. Memories of loving moments.
Poignant, those descending images.
Leading yet again to an ascension.

A morphine mist, narcotic high.
To see her through the flying high.
And then at last, her mother's arms
would hold her steady there -
within the real of love's infinity...

? Michaelette ?

10/7/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .