COMING
AROUND AGAIN
Three
years ago—three years of poison and desperate
positive
thinking—they cut off my breast,
carving
out the lymph nodes
of
the underarm as well.
They
left me with an ugly, puckered scar
14
inches long and 3 inches wide,
raised
one-half to one inch high
along
its length, and another
incision
3 inches below that scar
where
a length of tubing inserted
into
the chest drained
blood
and lymph into an attached bag
for
3 ½ pain-filled, sleepless weeks.
Death
has come looking for me before this
several
times. I have always tricked her
into
leaving me to my life a little longer,
Scheherazade
putting the random scenes
of
daily living into dramatic narrative,
heightening
conflict and tension,
generating
suspense, embellishing
dull
parts to create more spark and excitement,
adding
touches of humor to lighten the mood,
a
story playing out in front of her
to
which she needs to know the ending
before
she brings down the final curtain.
I’ve
grown familiar with Death’s face,
can
read it to tell if I need to spice up the story
because
she’s losing interest. Old friend
and
familiar, she bears no horror for me any longer.
I
have seen the long view through her eyes,
the
sacred labyrinth of galaxies
spinning
out of control throughout the universe
pulling
apart in spiral motion, eternal
dissipation
of energy rippling outward
with
magic like the violent change brought
by
tropical storm clouds seen from the air,
galactic
snake coiling around stars and planets
and
black holes whirling like water
down
a drain, sucking all matter and energy
within
reach, voracious maws, widdershins,
sunwise,
ears of creation cocked
for
the song, symphony, story, vining
through
the nebulae, gathering tension
and
force, the vast’s giant spring pulled taut,
ready
to snap back into the kaleidoscope,
force
of tornadoes, whirlwinds,
passing
into the still eye surrounded
by
the stomp dance of the stars,
Creator’s
medicine wheel, coming,
going,
bringing, leaving, giving, taking,
moving
up and down around the spiral
of
time, infinity’s tilt-a-whirl.
Remaining
attached to this life, these loved people,
I
have no wish to join the stardust spiral dance
of
destruction and creation before I must.
I’ll
stay here in this incarnation as long as I can,
loving
this insane world’s dark and light moments
and
the people, trees, birds around me, clinging
until
the last to its chiaroscuro, yin and yang.
Still,
I won’t fall screaming into the void
when
my time is up. I’ve seen the wheel of fortune
that
is the cosmos. Life is circular, grinding all of us
into
crumbs of creation, raw material for new wonders.
I’ve
promised myself and lovely bony Ms. Death
I
will embrace my ride on the celestial merry-go-round.
But
the story’s not over yet—there’s at least one more chapter
before
the spectacular, mystifying, completely satisfying climax.
©
2017 Linda Rodriguez