See?

See?

When I grew up, arms like branches legs like roots, I stretched.

Away.

Not that I could feel my legs.. nor manoeuvre them- but I could imagine. Solid.

And unmoving.

Simply.

As the trunk of the tree would provide support as needed but then.. bend and break. Legs that although numb  -

I could imagine to be..

unshakeable.

If they were unmoving, in my imagination I grew them strong.

A tree which would stand for decades watching history be made,

as I hid behind the door

The sobs

were

like ink dripped onto the paper made of my bones.

My roots would keep me linked to the earth long after the rest of me was gone and then would regenerate… moss would be its companion.

My fingers as they twitched I would imagine the leaves, rustling in the breeze of the scrub-clothed nurses, nothing but the wind, rustling through the fingers

(Green Nail Polish.)  

Twitching. Shaved hair meant nothing more than Fall to  winter…

I was shedding my excess and preparing to hibernate..

atching my sap ooze into the vial of the blood draw. The chemotherapy being nothing less than pesticides sprayed on me. My legs, still unmoving, still a trunk.  

My fingers were still leaves. My toes became roots, and spread underground, seeing things my eyes could imagine.

Life becoming the endless shifting of the seasons… I could see at eye level, through the clouds.

but everything else went underground.

The words I heard were nothing but birds chirping in my ear.. Words such as “6 months” and “I’m sorry” and “We’re doing all we can” and “Leukemia.”

A tree was strong and rooted, and would bend, then break. Its roots would remain underground, and moss would be its companion.

Just as it would be mine

in.

six.

Short.

months.

If they continued doing all they could.

“I’m Sorry.”