ninanevermore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ninanevermore) wrote2006-01-29 01:14 pm
ninanevermore) wrote2006-01-29 01:14 pm
Entry tags:
Good grief, yet another poem
I wrote this one about a conversation I had with a friend almost a year ago. She was going through something very scary, and I suddenly realized how helpless I was and that there was nothing brilliant to say at a time like that, no magic words to make everything better (at least none that I know of). If anyone does knows some, could you please pass them on to me?
Biopsy
"It'll be okay," I said.
Not that I knew for certain,
not that I even had a premonition -
I only said what I hoped was true.
She looked worried;
She looked like the call
from her doctor's office
had knocked her off balance
like a tornado coming our of a clear sky
twisting through her day
and leaving debris
where the houses of her composure
had once stood.
"You're young," I said
"You haven't missed an annual exam.
It's minor. A few cells. They can fix it."
"Of course," she said.
"When?" I asked.
Next week. Wednesday.
Seven days for her not to sleep.
A week to imagine the worst.
Seven days for her to ride
strapped in a demented roller coaster
up and down and around
before coming to a stop
at the top of a loop
to leave her hanging upside down
until the lab results came back.
I wished I could invent
the perfect phrase to make it better,
to offer comfort and relief
to her worry and torment,
I wished I could conjure
the magic words
to let her sleep at night,
to evaporate the tears
poised on her lower lashes,
to reassure her that this was nothing.
But I gave her all I had,
as pathetic as it as;
I spoke with a feigned confidence
worthy of an Oscar;
"Don't worry," I told her,
"It'll be okay."
-Nina Erickson
02/2005
(c) 2006
To finish the story, her biopsy was positive but the cancer was contained and had not spread. She underwent a procedure to remove it and really is okay. I'm glad I was actually right, for once in my life.
Biopsy
"It'll be okay," I said.
Not that I knew for certain,
not that I even had a premonition -
I only said what I hoped was true.
She looked worried;
She looked like the call
from her doctor's office
had knocked her off balance
like a tornado coming our of a clear sky
twisting through her day
and leaving debris
where the houses of her composure
had once stood.
"You're young," I said
"You haven't missed an annual exam.
It's minor. A few cells. They can fix it."
"Of course," she said.
"When?" I asked.
Next week. Wednesday.
Seven days for her not to sleep.
A week to imagine the worst.
Seven days for her to ride
strapped in a demented roller coaster
up and down and around
before coming to a stop
at the top of a loop
to leave her hanging upside down
until the lab results came back.
I wished I could invent
the perfect phrase to make it better,
to offer comfort and relief
to her worry and torment,
I wished I could conjure
the magic words
to let her sleep at night,
to evaporate the tears
poised on her lower lashes,
to reassure her that this was nothing.
But I gave her all I had,
as pathetic as it as;
I spoke with a feigned confidence
worthy of an Oscar;
"Don't worry," I told her,
"It'll be okay."
-Nina Erickson
02/2005
(c) 2006
To finish the story, her biopsy was positive but the cancer was contained and had not spread. She underwent a procedure to remove it and really is okay. I'm glad I was actually right, for once in my life.