Interviewing my Mother (Draft 2)

        What was it like dying?

As the cancer seared through your body

            Did you still find time to smile?

As your lungs became the battle ground

            Between healthy and mutated cells

Did life still have meaning?

"Radiation, turned my skin red

My beautiful hair, my source of pride,

Finally came out, falling onto my pillow

As if my body itself were weeping

Your aunt came over that day

      Shaving my head, removing my crown

    After all, it was time for wigs

Oh, but I had a smile on my face

when you got off the bus that day

My new crown of glory resting on my head

An unexpected surprised that

wasn’t unexpected, after all

There were five of you, three of blood, two of love,

my beacons of life

You were only newly ripped from the womb,

But in so little time,

you learned the lesson of death

            One that I taught you

But my life had meaning, how could it not?

I had all I wanted in life.

After all, I had you.

            It just wasn’t enough to live for

Dying wasn’t so bad, once you got past the grief

            My body, it ached. Walking became difficult

How could I fight it any longer? My brain turned to mush

            Fleeting memories of better times,

And my body…oh how heavy it felt

            Even after losing my breast

I still felt heavy, as if my bones turned to stone

            But we had fun, despite the war

Raging inside of me. Your grandmother,

            She would stand beside me, inappropriately grabbing my breast

The one that was no longer there

But we all laughed. It was funny, it was naughty

And if we couldn’t poke fun at my situation

I’d be dying in a different way

For two years I fought, and then I was cleared

            I wasn’t dying anymore.

The cells were gone and it was time to recover

            Time to move on

I made jokes, talking about how my new breasts

            Would be bigger than yours

But it wasn’t in my cards. Not for me

            And not for you

My cancer came back

            Or it never did leave

This time though, it perforated my lungs

            My liver, my brain

I would have been on chemo for life

            And radiation for sure

A red, shell of a person is what I would have been

            But I didn’t have it in me, not anymore

The battle became too fierce

            I withered away before your eyes

A rose fighting for life in the warmth of Summer

            While their insides turned to ice

I wish I could say I had a glorious end

            One filled with trumpets and singers

A real menagerie, but it wasn’t

            It was in the living room

Surrounded by my family, but confined to my bed

            Where I found out what it truly was like

To finally be dying

            It was where you found out

What it felt like to die”

Interviewing My Mother

What was it like dying?

As the cancer seared through your body

            Did you still find time to smile?

As your lungs became the battle ground

            Between healthy and mutated cells

Did life still have meaning?

Radiation turned my skin red

My beautiful hair, my source of pride,

Finally came out, falling onto my pillow

As if my body itself was weeping

Your aunt came over and shaved my head

                        It was time for wigs

But I had a smile on my face

when you got off the bus that day,

An unexpected surprised that

wasn’t unexpected, after all

There were five of you, three of blood, two of love,

my beacons of life

You were only newly ripped from the womb,

But in so little time, you learned the lesson of death

            One I taught you

But my life had meaning, how could it not?

I had all I wanted in life.

After all, I had you.

            It just wasn’t enough to live for

Dying wasn’t so bad, once you got past the grief

            My body, it ached. Walking became difficult

How could I fight it any longer? My brain turned to mush

            Fleeting memories of better times,

And my body…oh how heavy it felt

            Even after losing my breast

It still felt heavy, as if my bones turned to stone

            But we had fun, despite the war

Raging inside of me. Your grandmother,

            She would stand beside me, inappropriately grabbing my breast

The one that was no longer there

But we all laughed. It was funny, it was naughty

And if we couldn’t poke fun at my situation

I’d be dying in a different way

For two years I fought, and then I was cleared

            I wasn’t dying anymore.

The cells were gone and it was time to recover

            Time to move on

I made jokes, talking about how my new breasts

            Would be bigger than yours

But it wasn’t in my cards. My cancer came back

            Or it never did leave

Only this time it perforated my lungs

            My liver, my brain

I would have been on chemo for life

            And radiation for sure

A red, shell of a person is what I would have been

            But I didn’t have it in me, not anymore

The battle became to fierce

            I withered away before your eyes

A rose fighting for life in the warmth of Summer

            With their insides turned to ice

I wish I could say I had a glorious end

            One filled with trumpets and singers

A real menagerie, but it wasn’t

            It was in the living room

Surrounded by my family, but confined to my bed

            Where I found out what it truly was like

To finally be dying

            It was where you found out

What it felt like to die

For My Son

For My Son

Cleaning a room is an odd experience,

 like a trip into a jungle,

 where’ve you seen everything before,

but they suddenly have new meaning,

 or like an exotic trip,

one to the canyons,

where every useless item you find

 is suddenly valuable,

Like those old pants I bought you

the ones that never fit you quite right,

but you wore them anyway, just to make me happy

though I knew you never did like them,

or your mountain of mismatched socks,

 the ones I never could throw away –

even though we both knew I wanted to, 

but you, you were so adamant

in your defense, claiming that one day, their soul-mate would come

but that day never did come,

and it never will, not since the day

 I received that message, the one thrown

  on my desk in a crumbled mess,

the one covered in bitter tears so potent,

 the black ink smeared, pooling onto that ricketty, raggedy desk

             you spent all your time at, the cigarette dish still fresh,

your cologne, still too strong - the one that always

 made me sneeze - your faded drawings, covered in crayon and marker.

your favorite pen, used to write many of letters back in the day, your box of tissues

the tissue! Oh, how could I forget

  the tissue? The one you used to dab at my eyeliner

joking about how I looked akin to a raccoon

 and oh how mad that made me, but you

  you laughed it off, that deep laugh of yours

that sung a melody like the music box

A music box like a snow globe.

 My snow globe.

 Remember that?

The glass could never be cleaned, and the snow

 never quite looked right, but you

            worked so hard, throwing those darts

 and nailing the target, winning the globe

You held it proudly, like a trophy

 Then handed it over to me

            Now here it lies, clouded with dust

Is it still your trophy now?

What about that old piece of bread

 you kept in that liquid-filled dish

That grew a whole colony

 and I urged you to throw it out

  but you never could do it

How about your lucky ball cap

 that smelled and had more holes than it ought

            but you wore it anyway

your raven-black hair protruding through

 like a smooth pebble

  in a river that flew too fast

I would venture through this forest a million times

 if it meant I’d find you at the end

  with medals of gold on your chest

A hero, my hero

 Just like you always have been

            even with your quirks. The ones I loved

How could I not love them? You were perfect

            Always were, and always will be

You’re perfect to me

 I even keep that ghastly clock in my room

             that one that never did quite work

The one that goes off the same time every day

                        11:11

   if only I had a wish to make

But for now, I’ll settle with

 those dried, dead flowers

 given to me in the month of May

Proclaiming me at the Queen of them all

 I wore my crown proudly

            even though, it never did quite match,

My flour-stained apron, 

or weathered shoes

            After all, it was a gift from you

And like everything you’ve ever given me

            I’ll treasure it always. Even the grief

Because even this sadness, reminds me of you

Listen now, the clock is chiming

  11:11

 it’s time to make a wish

Ode to Cigarettes (Draft 4)

The end of your body burns brightly
Releasing the essence of your spirit 
Entering my soul and filling my lungs
with the pungent fragrance of Death

Selbstmord begehen (to commit suicide)

My nerves, they crave you
My silver chain, caresses my heart
Making my every desire, yours

Abhängigkeit (addiction)

I loathe the very thought of you

But all it takes is one glimpse of 
your long, slender figure, and I know,
I am yours again

Rückfall (relapse)

As your numbers,
quickly dwindle away,
in a spark of fire,
I hate myself more
and more, but I know,
I know that one day 
My soul will be cleansed
As I ascend to Heaven
With clouds at my feet

Rauchschwaden (cloud of smoke) 

List Poem (Draft 2)

Cleaning a room is an odd experience,

like a trip into a jungle,

where’ve you seen everything before

but they suddenly have new meaning,

or it's more like an exotic

trip, one to the canyons, where every item

is suddenly valuable,

Kind-of like those old pants I bought you

the ones that never fit you quite right,

but you wore them anyway, just to make me happy

though I knew you never did like them,

or your mountain of mismatched socks,

the ones I never could throw away - even though

we both knew I wanted to, but you, 

you were so adamant in your defense,

claiming that one day, their soul-mate would come

but that day never did come, and it never will,

not since the day I received that message, the one thrown

on my desk in a crumbled mess,

the one covered in bitter tears so potent,

the black ink smeared, pooling onto that ricketty, raggedy desk

you spent all your time at, the cigarette dish still fresh,

your cologne, still too strong - the one that always

made me sneeze - your faded drawings, covered in crayon and marker.

your favorite pen, used to write many of letters back in the day, your box of tissues

the tissue!Oh, how could I forget

the tissue? The one you used to dab at my eyeliner

joking about how I looked akin to a raccoon

and oh how mad that made me, but you

you laughed it off, that deep laugh of yours

that sung a melody like the music box

A music box like a snow globe. My snow globe.

Remember that?

The glass could never be cleaned, and the snow

never quite looked right, but you

worked so hard, throwing those darts

and nailing the target

and winning the globe

You held it proudly, like a trophy

then handed it over to me

Now here it lies,  clouded with dust

Is it still your trophy now?

What about that old piece of bread

you kept in that liquid-filled dish

That grew a whole colony

and I urged you to throw it out

but you never could do it

How about your lucky ball cap

that smelled and had more holes than it ought

but you wore it anyway

your raven-black hair protruding through

like a smooth pebble

in a river that flew too fast

I would venture through this forest a million times

if it meant I’d find you at the end

with medals of gold on your chest

A hero, my hero

Just like you always have been

even with your quirks. The ones I loved

I loved every part of you, I always will

I even keep that ghastly clock in my room

that one that never did quite work

The one that goes off the same time every day

11:11

if only I had a wish to make

But for now, I’ll settle with

those dried, dead flowers

given to me in the month of May

Proclaiming me at the Queen of them all

I wore my crown proudly

even though, it never did quite match,

My flour-stained apron, 

or weathered shoes

Listen now, the clock is chiming

11:11

it’s time to make a wish