Friday, February 14, 2014

Happy Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day 2014

In further good news we learned yesterday that my breast tumor had clean margins, meaning it did not try to branch out whatsoever. While I generally consider branching out to be an essential element of a life well-lived, with cancer, everyone wants clean margins!
The pathologist also took a more detailed look/see at my soldier sentinel nodes and pronounced they were as clean as whistle. if that metaphor even works. SO, only good news from the pathology report, which will positively impact my further steps of treatment, to be fully delineated next week at a team meeting with all the relevant docs at Mass General.

No more health stuff now, but how ‘bout this poem I wrote for you know who. This Valentine’s Day we’re sending a boatload of love your way; may all our lives be imbued with love of all kinds and all the other good stuff, too!
Love & light,

Valentine’s Day for Paul

When we happened upon the
black sand beach while circumnavigating Iceland
I could not predict that 20 years later
I would sit by your side
On a cozy afternoon
After an epic snow storm

Me sorting a colossal pile of nails and screws
Which quite possibly would never be used:
Flat topped nails with smooth legs
Skinny tacks with no manners at all
Stunt little crossed-topped screws
that would drive me mad
when the Phillip’s head went missing,
screws sitting bored in plastic sheaths
waiting to spread wide ,
and alive, behind drywall
these nuts & bolts of our life held together

But like the good husband you are,
You did not begrudge me my useless chore
A sorter’s delight,
Well, how could you?

An unfortunate plate
holding your obsidian Islandic sand,
--that shining rarity you somehow coveted
and carried home like a sack of rare gems--
had shattered,
spraying the shiny blackness
in an spectacular arc on the cellar floor ….
where it languished for weeks
mingling mindlessly
with lesser elements
while life whirled around upstairs.
The clean-up presented a challenge
But you took it on, same furrowed brow
The intensively pensive look you sport:
First gathering the spill
with a feather-light broom
Then arriving at the table,
your coddled load diminished,
you skillfully pour out the mixture,
delicately pushing black sand to one side
lowly dirt and dust to the other,
You had some difficult-to-follow
scientific explanation
for how the division
must take place

While I sat satisfied, sorting my fasteners,
--thrilled to find a missing drill bit!
you worked your magic on that sand
until a pure unpolluted blackness was all that was left

And right there
I knew the perfect contentment
as the slant of the winter sun
illuminated the fact that
people in love can do anything at all & be happy.

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