napowrimo day 2
My lungs are filled
with tumors. I press
myself to the ground. Air
is hard to acquire. I am willing
myself done. If I press hard enough,
I am sure I can enter the earth.
In the next dream I sit by my father,
telling him about my earlier dream. That
I was the one with lung cancer,
not him. We spend a lot of time talking.
He is dwindling, daily. Soon
I will be able to gather him in my arms,
as surely and solidly as I hold my baby girl. As
he sleeps I look at him. His
legs are pale and hairless. Who knows when
he last stood?
His nose, sharp
and regal. We are quieter
than we ever allow
when we are awake together.
I had a rough night, last week, full of cancer dreams. I knew I needed to write them down. My guess is this is just the beginning of these, sadly.