Breath

A black rhinoceros sits on my chest. Flitting his tail back and forth across my face, he asks: "Why worry about the very thing over which you have no control?" I have no answer.

The rhino presses his leathery haunches into my guy, his boney rump compresses my solar plexus. He is indifferent. A cool 3,000 pound cucumber. He has time to chill his hooves, sitting as he is, comfortably on my chest.

"I can't take it anymore!" I plead.

"What?" he asks, turning to face me, and then closes his beady, black eyes. His horn tips to the right in contemplation or perhaps a fit of narcolepsy. I can't tell which.

After a moment or two he sighs into my face--hot, moist, and grassy: "You've carried such a heavy load this past year," he sputters. "I'm light potatoes."

And I know that bastard, thick-horned, odd-toed ungulate is right.

Rhino, thy name is Worry.


** Scans are in 13 days. Scanxiety reaches TSA Yellow Zone, with an additional small boat advisory. That is all.

The Spin and the Real Deal

The Spin:

On July 14th, 2011, just days after my 11th birthday, I was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma, an aggressive form of bone cancer. As a result, my family and I had to move from our home in Hawaii to Washington State so that I could receive better cancer treatment and a limb-salvage surgery to save my left leg. I am surviving treatment at Seattle Children’s Hospital, but hopefully I'll be back in Hawaii at the end of the summer, 2012.  Things I miss from home: my friends, my Nana, roller derby, school, warm weather, beaches, and even the coqui frogs.

The Real Deal:

I wrote the introduction to Lauren's CaringBridge account because she was too ill to do it herself.  The Spin is upbeat and positive.  The Real Deal is that I was and am still not this positive.  It is mostly the alter-ego persona of my badass Mama Bear.  Truth is, I'm still terrified and wake up in the middle of the night, searching for her forehead.  Is she feverish?  Is she ill?  How can I rest when my child is fighting for her life?  These are the 3am questions that continue to haunt me. 

The Other Shoe

Drums...

Like rain on the roof, like now.
Drums like my "To Do" list, never ends.
At 3am the drum is my heart, pounding
in my chest. A panic metronone.
Skin pulled too tight,
Time pulled too tight,
My heart pulled too, too tight.

Waiting for the other shoe -
Snapping, snapping, drum, drum, drop.

Moments Between

In the moment before I cared
what you might say -
that little voice inside me,
that little voice that started out
a whisper
and ended in a roar
said
then shouted: Just say it!

The hesitation on your breath,
your very being,
it betrays you.

Summer as Someone Else

Fresh cut grass, heavy and green
in the air - Barbequed ribs
and bread fresh from the oven.
Chlorine from the pool
and coconut tanning oil.

Cold beer in an icy glass,
the smell of damp dark earth
and the hum of june bugs
late at night.

Ahhh!  Eternal summer

Beat

She took the stage,
licked her lips, then
moved the microphone close
to her thin red lips.

Holding a wad of wrinkled
paper in her left hand
she started to read
gesturing with her hands
swaying to the rhythm
reading her poetry
about love lost
broken hearts
better days
lessons learned
and tube socks.

She read her poetry
her bad, bad poetry
with the flair of
a great, great beat poet.

Perhaps she should get a beret.
That... might improve things.

Seed

Strange seed, fleshy pod falls to earth, stripped of its
fiberous shell, sweet-tart flesh, jelly and pulp
the color of day old blood.
The tamarind seed, a beautiful thing.
No decent pad thai without it.