Greetings! I've been a bit MIA from my blog recently. But trust I'm well, and I'm writing! Here is a piece I wrote yesterday on World Cancer Day...
Yellow as September
It started with yellow,
Ended with yellow,
And yellow lived at the core.
Yellow, goldenrod, canary, No. 5.
Yellow: the soft, tattered T-shirt you wore the last time you left home.
Yellow T-shirt held to my nose, inhaling your scent, months later.
Yellow was the "cheerful" hospital gown and the backs of your hands as you struggled with death.
Yellow are the new floor boards in the room we prepared for you, reflecting the sun, panoramic views of firey sunrises and smoldering sunsets over purple mountains.
Yellow as a mango, I said when I saw how jaundiced you were last March.
Yellow bathroom, yellow lighting, you shrugged to explain why you hadn't noticed: yellow skin, yellow eyes.
Iodine smeared on your Mediport,
Chemotherapy prepared by a nurse in a yellow bio-hazard smock.
Hard yellow candy when the port is flushed to mask the sudden saline taste in your mouth.
Yellow double line down the highway, I drive you home, nauseous.
Jars and jars of yellow chicken broth, all in a row, waiting.
A splash of lemon juice in your water is all you want.
Then yellow scrambled eggs -- a little cheddar cheese, a lot of butter. We sit across the table from one another.
On good days.
On bad days, I sit alone.
From spring Buttercups, to dry, yellow grass, to juicy Golden Delicious apples: the orchard out the kitchen window marks the passing time.
Your golden hour; the final seasons of your life.
I start the old yellow dryer, wedging the broom handle just so to keep the door shut.
Behind me, rows of golden honey sparkle dully in the gloom of the laundry room slash pantry.
Mementos of another time.
Yellow: your peanut M&M wrappers. Once a guilty pleasure, now forgotten.
Yellow: the plastic water cup by your bedside.
Yellow: the maple leaves that litter the driveway you once kept so clean.
Yellow: the color of the hair of the nice nurse.
Yellow: the notebook I clench in my teeth as I climb to the roof the day you died.
Yellow: the daffodils that bloomed this week, not knowing you are gone.