oncologyA Poem by m.s.earlyWhere did the end find you? Were you outside by the dumpster on a cigarette break, relaxing between the arms of your sofa and sips of white zinfandel? No, that is not where you were. Your tumors had grown over the years like storm clouds gathering together on the horizon. While the sky darkened you mistook the thunderheads for arthritis in your flat feet. Maybe it was the orthotics that needed adjusting, maybe that was what caused the lightning strikes in your side. You thought it over between commercials during the evening news. Your horses ran laps in the mornings and ate carrots out of the hands of my daughters who were too young to notice the signs... how the wind was picking up, the leaves turning upside down, the horses peculiarly nervous. They asked you innocently enough, "How are you uncle Vince?" And neither of you were any wiser. They didn't know to check the almanac. The doctors had read it like an insurance policy, mulled it over while making their decisions. They had seen the signs before; they knew the season was nigh. By the time the rains started it was too late for hospice; the end had found you clenching, robbed of your integrity, the tumors raping you. © 2014 m.s.earlyAuthor's Note
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18 Reviews Added on May 2, 2014 Last Updated on May 3, 2014 Authorm.s.earlyVAAbout"A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep." -Salman Rushdie more..Writing
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