poem: Waiting for Results

penned between the waiting room and cafe where I opened the results of a cancer test

I swear it is true. The sidewalks:

they are out to kill me tonight, as in

every other night, too, but especially tonight

I'm fine, I have been lying, to just about everyone.

My feet know better. They find every stumble,

and put me through it, for good measure.

A piece of mimeographed paper can:

give you back your life,

or sentence you for every crime

you ever committed.

It makes me wonder, what do do with crimes

I have, thus far, only thought of committing?

I just realized how thirsty I am-  sitting in this cafe,

alone- envelope in hand, I bargain,

with my own version of external/ internal deity

over a huge glass of hibiscus drink.

at the corner table, easy to overlook.

Huh. they say, when you are in love,

every conversation, every meditation-

becomes a flock of starlings in a gyre, swirling

twisting, undulating, sleeking their way

back to your beloved.

I am cursed in love- I say too much, too soon;

too little, too late; A surplus of candidates

who do not capture my heart and too many torches

carried for the unattainable.

An existential coward of things related

to heart and womb.  

When Ray died too young, I dealt with it by

calculating how many chances he had

to see a full moon. and wondered, how many

missed- for clouds, or not knowing

or simply forgetting to look up at night,

or even to just go outside, to the balcony would do,

for better perspective. There is always ever so much

inertia, nibbling holes through our desires.

If you let this be negative, I promise to:

stop making stupid mistakes in love.

Holes. In things, in souls, in sidewalks. All

of my clothes have seen better days.

And a woman with no insurance,

essentially would have no treatment options.

Don't take that just yet, I am not sure

that I am done using it.

And still, I would rather know, than not.

When the vomiting and pain are too much, I

want to know why I am curled in a ball

at the side of the road. It is the scientist

in my veins and cerebrum. Insatiable curiosity.

"and then what happens?"

And no matter what, I never want to miss

another moonrise that is in my power to see.

Now, since in this case the number "13" is most

fortunate- below threshold-

You have lucked out, too. I have promises to keep:

no coming in through your window

during 2 am bouts of insomnia, declaring my love-

tempting as that might be. Ok, IS.  

I learn tonight that ovarian cancer will not

kill me, at least not now-

but that loneliness derived from cowardice

just might. That is, if the sidewalks

do not get me first.

Author's Note

test was done to rule of cause of a few months of troubling symptoms. happy it turned out negative, but this has to be as close to a universal fear as there is. myheart goes out who deal with this in ways even more real.

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

it is, in priority of importance, your safety which takes precedent of; Living. And whatever preconception
one has of the afterlife is prejudiced by illness. I had a friend who refused to even utter the word
cancer, as if not saying it condenses it to vapor or pushes it to the back of the garden where
the melons that the squirrels nibbled on rest. I don't know if not saying anything makes it true.
But i'm a poet. Decreed, appointed and settle beforehand to deposit predestination of all events,
infallible. Even life. In other words Maria, I am either a dreamer, devout, or needlessly insane. But


I've been thru that cancer s**t. The tubes. The appointments. The terror. That's enough right
there to scare a person out of their wits. When I started reading this poem I almost didn't
want to get to the ending. You know that ending of "On the Water Front" when honesty
faces evil with respect to the survival of species preyed upon. But in the end you always
pulled for the righteous. No matter what....I do hope you're well...this I pray.

dana

[Marie Anzalone]

My decision to live and work alone in a foreign country as a single woman has forced me at times to examine many what-ifs that are distinctly unpleasant. Inequality and classism are not things we like to talk about in the US. My best friend's wife has a heart condition that might kill her. There is one hospital in northern Central America that can handle her condition; there are hundreds in the US. For her surgery, which saved her life, she and her husband sold everything they owned, and put their name in for an appointment on a specific day and. They traveled to the capital to get there 5 hours early, and put their name into the day's lottery for treatment. They were lucky that day. She got her surgery. Rich people, of course, fly to countries with better options. We tend to think of poverty, in the US, as something that affects what kind of car you drive or how often you should eat out. Its reality goes much deeper, it cuts to the very heart of humanity and self-esteem. The knowledge- I am always just one accident/ diagnosis away from annihilation. Existential fears that, according to the science of such things, truly are inescapable. We do not talk about such things because we are, underneath, creatures of magical thinking.

I have been sick all year, and we cannot figure out what is wrong. One minute I am fine, the next curled in excruciating pain and vomiting, too weak to stand, sweat pouring form me and wracked with chills. It is apparently not heart, not liver, not pancreas, not gall bladder, and now, not ovarian cancer. As we go down the list, we kep ruling out scary things, and each time I face the "waht ifs?" because I am alone and I am an adult, and as you know that is what we do. We go on with our plans, knowing how fragile and tenuous all of our foundations really are. Maybe you and I are more sensitive because we live closer to it, every day... and we each have unfathomable losses in our back pocket to remind us of reelity each time we try to dream too big. How do we get around that?

[Vesa Lee]

At first fearful and now thankful, my prayers are with you tonight Marie...your words a mirror to what my own were not so long ago...hoping for the most benign explanation and swift healing.

[Marie Anzalone]

REsources have run out before I have final amswers, Vesa, but still plodding along. Thank you so very much for the kindness and review. Hope to know more in a couple of weeks.

[Ken Simm.]

If ever there was a woman who decided to live.... it was you. It is a relief but think about it... it was ever only a matter of timings. It is never a question of what do you do when you get it... if you get it... it is always a case of how much you put into it. Another remarkable, insightful, empathic and altogether amazing read.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Ken. I kind of dropped away for a while, and I appreciate you stopping by and keeping up. I think that living, like loving, is a conscious choice that you make every day. How much to put into it, how deeply engaged, how involved, how present. People like yoiu are an inspiration to the rest of us mortals, in that regard. Truly. Appreciate your words, my friend.

[Cory Barrett]

Marie,

If this isn't everything about being an individual, then I have yet to read or hear a better definition. This is everything that poetry can be; solace and understanding of one's self. Turning and looking down the ladder we have climbed, when we arrive at a group of rungs that are missing. This is life.

This wrenched me. My 30 year old sister was diagnosed with uterine cancer 2 months ago.

That was two months ago. Last week the doctor announced her cancer free. There is hope, and there is an opportunity for understood reflection.

I wish you grace, peace, and happy for your failed test!

[Marie Anzalone]

Cory, thank you for this beautiful and kind review. I am very saddened to hear of your siste'rs diagnosis, and very happy to hear that she is in remission. Several in my own family battle MS and/or cancer. We sit and we make our plans for the future that we want, and few things take the wind out f our sails like chronic unexplained medical problems. To be told, "you have all the symptoms of ovarian cancer and need to be tested," I think would scare the s**t out of any woman. The implications for me, without insurance and/or good access to medical care, would have been truly life-altering to say the least. I hope that your sister is able to pick up where she left off with ehr life, and that the treatment did not affect her dreams too much. Blessings to you both.