– Poetry by Joanne Jagoda –
Sanctuary
I’m a blondish plucked chicken
underneath my burgundy scarf
though I thought I was bold and tough
when I cut my hair short weeks ago
ready with wigs and peacock-bright coverings
until the last wisps started their heartless descent
and I wept, sprawled on the bathroom floor
waiting my turn, I sit
on the leather chair
magazines unopened on my lap
admitted by default to this curious flock
a sorority I never wanted to join
quietly chirping in different languages
draped in cottons, silks, perky knits
exotic birds in festooned plumage
we steal wary glances at one another
bald beautiful birds shorn to their essence
stoic smiles, jutting cheekbones, haunted eyes
a thirty-something with a hennaed pate sits to my left
proud and elegant, so cool and hip
she cries, comforted by her mom
I sigh; she is too young for all of this
name called, ID checked again
my chemo cocktail prepared
I play my music and close my eyes
I see the others in the room we share
connected to the tubes
tied to each other by strings of understanding
the red poison drips relentless
hopeful birds we are all
sometimes we chat
sometimes we huddle quietly under warm blankets
tended to by nurses, family and friends
we hover bravely
not knowing what tonight or tomorrow may bring
praying we will soar again
Intensive care
In this place where life hovers
night and day meld
minutes and hours shove up against each other
time has no boundaries or meaning
watching you tethered to lines and machines
your body, poked and probed, assaulted
numbers and lines on monitors
shout their own merciless testimony
doctors rushing by explaining too little
nurses so competent, so kind
flitting in and out of the room
I pray, I weep
they bring me ice water, offer comfort
I’ve learned to ask them the questions
I too am suspended in this alternate universe
between this room and outside the hospital doors
where the summer sun is bright and hot
where couples walk hand in hand
and go to catch a movie after work
wondering if we will make it out of here
wondering how we got here in the first place
after I’ve left you for the day
I’m desperate to go anywhere, even Whole Foods
but I break down at the take-out counter
my hospital nametag giving me away
to a perfect stranger who comforts me
I let her touch my heart, I talk, I confess
we hug and she shares her hospital story
all while we wait for our numbers to come up
to buy our citrus salmon
A July Afternoon at the Wharf
I remember envying the tourists,
carefree, riding the cable cars,
delighting in their crab cocktails and sourdough loaves,
but I was lucky too, winning-the-lottery lucky,
having just heard results of my PET scan,
after three days of not sleeping, barely eating,
delivered so nonchalantly
by a young balding doctor in desert boots
who read me my fate
off a scrap of paper he pulled from his white-coat pocket
as though he was a prescient fortune teller.
Blessedly my cancer had not spread further,
though I’d need chemo and radiation,
“ the gold standard of treatment,”
but he was on to his next patient,
before I could even hug him.
We couldn’t go home that July afternoon,
bubbling over with our newly minted hope
and headed for the Wharf;
the sun brighter, the sky bluer,
a scraggly street musician sang Motown on a keyboard.
I stood boogying to Marvin Gaye;
passersby amused by the sixtyish woman dancing by herself
but I didn’t care,
and when I sat down laughing
my husband hugged me tight
and we kissed on the green bench.
Little did I know,
I had booked irrevocable passage on a journey
whose destination was unknown.
About the Author – Joanne Jagoda
After retiring in 2009, one inspiring writing workshop launched Joanne Jagoda of Oakland, California on an unexpected writing trajectory. Her short stories, poetry and creative nonfiction appear on-line and numerous print anthologies, and she has won awards, contests and a Pushcart nomination. Creative writing has also helped her navigate through her breast cancer journey and serious illness of her husband. Joanne continues taking Bay Area writing workshops, enjoys Zumba, traveling and spoiling her seven grandchildren.
Did you like these poems by Joanne Jagoda? Then you might also like:
Metaplasia and other poems
This is What Death Does
Things I’ve Learned on the Road
Dog Men (A Prison Story)
We grew up on fear and became heroes
Mud Season, Graceless & Violet Abandon
The damsel in distress was not for me
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