Poetry is hard
And I have but fewer words
To describe today
My mind is running on fumes
What will happen tomorrow?
Poetry is hard
And I have but fewer words
To describe today
My mind is running on fumes
What will happen tomorrow?
Folding continues
But this time I fold myself
Into new poses
Learning vocabulary
Strength and flexibility
Simple things matter
Uninterrupted silence
Communication
Colored pencils and warm socks
Wait, what was I doing now?
What odd sensations
My tongue feels false in my mouth
Metallic, slug-like
Fingers and toes feel blunted
As if stubbed repeatedly
Chemo brain is real
Second guessing every move
Doubting what you said
Or what your thought you had said
Or when you thought you said it.
A new injection,
Each day keeps me from sickness.
Small bandages are forming,
Constellations along the-
Equator of my body.
Thursday was harder.
Like a freight train, it hit me-
This was expected.
And I got through it okay,
Tomorrow will be better