Limes with Orange

I was recently invited to read one of my poems at a Women's Open Mike Night in a couple of weeks. So I've been going through my poetry, trying to decide what to read and I've narrowed it down to five. This is one of the five. I wrote it in September of 1998, when I couldn't return to veterinary school because of my health. The doctors hadn't diagnosed me with Lupus yet, but I'd been feeling like hell for about a year and was seeing truckloads of specialists and having so many medical tests that my arms were like pincushions...

When your body betrays you
it leaves a mark on your soul
like a bruise
that slowly turns from
blue
to green
to yellow
as the injury ages
but never goes away

like a laceration
with jagged edges
that cuts too deeply
so that infection steals in
and creates an ulcer
that never heals

like an ache
that stems from deep within your bones
so that its very marrow
feels the pain
that keeps you awake
through the long deep cruel night
and you never sleep

like a scar
that grows larger
instead of shrinking
and the skin thickens
and people think that means it doesn't hurt
when it's really more painful
and it will never go away.

I believe I could do anything
if only my body
would stop the treachery
halt the treason
cease the betrayal
that makes me want to cry out
to the stars
and the empty
lonely
dark
space
and rage against the heavens
and beat against
the great flapping wing
that steals the breath from my lungs
until I drown
or choke
on the salt water
that is squeezed from my eyes
like blood from a stone.

cm
September 30, 1998

Labels: health, poetry