Step outside

The doctor

who is 47 and wears a baseball cap

she doesn’t look her age, even her hands are unlined

but she knows her stuff, telling me, it’s a virus

got into you, maybe by the loosest thread and working its way up

attacked your spleen like, a well placed fist will split even hard skin

opening up secrets, spilling them like spaghetti squash, reveals its jewel

thumbing through test results, her eyes raised imperceptably

we both joked at the irony of finding a virus, good news

by then I had, a long list of debtors, thinner wrists, curled with many knots, my mouth was parched from staying open

who knew I’d learned so well, the art of begging and beseachment

and the phone, if it were not disconnected, would not have rung because I’d found out 

those who stand in faded ink on birth certificate, are not interested in, the lurch of misfortune

you see, some people, they need warm weather, even in Wintertime

and cannot abide, a cold chill or sudden snap

and I, poor dear, had quite broken my luck on the roulette table, as it spun

a soft sound much like the running of a bath

my turn to fall

their turn to turn, face away, pretending, such misfortune doesn’t happen

they are acrobats of self-deception

I don’t condemn it

it gives me the outline of which to begin, a new family tree

it will not have many branches, perhaps will look deformed

but as the arroyo dries in hot Summer, lines leave scores in red earth, pointing a way for journiers

and there are people who come

from almost nowhere

bringing solace

like a well tended light, burning from animal oil

keeps alive, that creature within us

needing, oh so needing

I touched them, with burning fingers and blistered lips

I couldn’t form the words to say, how much it meant

walking in their step and how

the measure of their coming lifted me

from a place i’d never been nor wished to return 

emptiness is not, an acquired taste

the doctor, she can attest to that

I see grief in her stride and hope in the words she feeds me

as we create over the loom, something resembling a coat

to wear when the weather gets cold

and you have to step outside

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29 thoughts on “Step outside

  1. When someone can FINALLY tell you what’s wrong after all others treat you like a guinea pig, but have no results, it’s a welcomed event. Those of us living with our own chronic versions of this or that know many of these lines very well. I love what you did here:

    “my turn to fall

    their turn to turn, face away, pretending, such misfortune doesn’t happen

    they are acrobats of self-deception

    I don’t condemn it

    it gives me the outline of which to begin, a new family tree

    it will not have many branches, perhaps will look deformed

    but as the arroyo dries in hot Summer, lines leave scores in red earth, pointing a way for journiers

    and there are people who come

    from almost nowhere

    bringing solace

    like a well tended light, burning from animal oil”

    Each day, a new beginning.

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  2. I have a dear friend with serious health issues who is now homeless because of them. Her (adoptive) family turns their back, while she still does all she can to help them.
    Their narcissism and the American health system, keeps breaking my heart. And she won’t let me help her more than the measly amount I have done.
    You have captured that pain here in only the way you can. Gah! I am so sorry you have been through this too!!
    (But the virus thing is help-able?)

    Like

  3. I am sad that you are sick, somehow glad there is an answer, hoping it’s a good one.

    I am sorry your family is turning their backs.
    I’ve been suffering today, alone, and somehow, I was glad that they weren’t here, as I’m not sure I could explain it to them in ways they’d understand.

    Sending warm love to you, hoping the new year brings new hope.
    XO

    Like

  4. May health be yours. There seems hope of that in that doctor. There is so much else here, it begs to be reread and reread in changing circumstances, letting the tumbling images fall like so many dice on different faces.

    Like

  5. “emptiness is not, an acquired taste
    the doctor, she can attest to that
    I see grief in her stride and hope in the words she feeds me
    as we create over the loom, something resembling a coat
    to wear when the weather gets cold”

    It is a gift to create such beauty out of such pain and hardship. Hope that you are finally and truly on the mend

    Like

  6. Candice, you’ve been through so much – I can’t even imagine. And it’s taken all this time to figure out it’s a virus? It seems they don’t really care how much someone is suffering – and when they do care, their hands are tied and they’re unable to treat with true individual care because of the rules and regulations of the health care system. Where does this leave you now – hopefully with a treatment plan that works?
    You’re in my thoughts… please take care. 💕

    Liked by 1 person

      1. My prayers are with you also, Candice. I hope your doctor has a plan for you to regain your strength while you’re getting rid of the virus…. something to fight the virus itself. I’ve heard of remarkable healings coming from visualizations. Have you read any Caroline Myss? She’s a medical intuitive.
        Will try to email you soon – I’m behind on everything. Sending love! 💖

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Hoping to email you soon. (Having pain flare-up so can’t sit at computer very long.) Myss is highly respected writer, lecturer, intuitive. Lots of books (you can read reviews on Amazon to get an idea about her). Also she has a website. Believes in healing energies, etc. Don’t know if you’re open to that kind of thing but it’s interesting.
        Take care, dear Candice. 💕

        Like

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