Labor Day

It’s difficult to let
August pass
Without remembering
That is an anniversary
Of my near death.

I finally summoned
The courage to
Order hospital  records
From Labor Day weekend 1992.

I read the minutes
As my clocked ticked
                                                                  Away

I had crumbled onto a hospital floor
While diagnoses were bantered about,
sky reached out its hands to me
I answered, willingly.
For I was weary.

I cannot but weep
As I read of the hundred tests
Performed
Blindly searching an answer.

While my family paced, cursed, swore, wrung

in a plasticized waiting room

One.

Just one doctor
Slipped his fingers
Along mine.

Stopped to note mismatched
pallor of my face
With JFK’s signature tan.
Telltale hands dark
By  glandular fluke.

My letter to him, today.
Long remiss
Handwritten
Is dotted with smears
As I thank him
For giving me
Another life.

I hope I told all truths
When
I promised him
I used it well.

Image

6 comments

  1. Reading this and seeing how close you came I can honestly say “glad to know you!” Your literary contributions and work with students are evidence of good uses of your life.

    1. That was such an emotial time as you were so ill. I can remember Rob saying Fight! and you have but it has been tough. Love you, Mom

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