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Cancer and Five Old Clocks
“Cancer and Five Old Clocks” Rhythmic Stanzaic Poetry, Poetry Workshop 2002 I’d rather wash clothes, scrub a dirty floor, Than sit here waiting, looking out my door. To wait takes time that I may not reclaim. Waste whisks away with only one to blame. I sit and think. Not having time to die Does not ensure no pain. I want to lie, Be bored, regret, complain, and not be scared. I’ll ask God “Why?” Hell, how could He have dared? Cancer, I feel alone. I should not wait, Lying in bed while my loved ones create New stories to distract me from dying. I’d rather hear anything but crying. Instead…
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Faith
“Faith” Free verse poetry, Poetry Workshop 2002 She might have lost her faith in God that night Had life’s stopped heart not started again when She cried and beat her fists upon his chest. Liquor—the silent, killing distraction That screwed his mind—left him dying, gasping. Her heart of needles continued to beat, But with each beat, bad thoughts and blood would clash And clot and send rotting acidic waves To her stomach: cancerous ulcer and death. She has time for neither. The life she had Chased died before she knew. She found the ghost Of his memory—the man who could have died Without her pleading prayers and tears. He lived, But…
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Daddy’s Guitar
Daddy’s Guitar, Descriptive Essay for Comp. I, 9-17-99 One of the fondest memories from my childhood happened at my Meema’s house. My cousin Clint and I would crawl under Meema’s bed to pull out the treasures she had beneath it. The best treasure belonged to me, but was not really in my possession until I got older. Out of all the dust-covered items under her bed, my favorite was my late father’s guitar. The hard plastic handle of the torn, faded black guitar case felt grainy in my hands. As I pulled the case to where I could open it, the dust stirred, causing me to sneeze and cough. Smells of cedar…
