The young voice at the end of the phone
gave me instructions
where with who and when to report
a number to check with
on the nature of financial obligations
Google maps helped
find the location.
That morning there was
merciful fog.
I knew my name.
Could not remember
the first name of my physician – Mario.
Medications long familiar
escaped memory.
the staff was kind
understanding anxiety and fasting.
When the doctor came
I forced technical questions
he warmed when he understood
I cared about my treatment
perhaps all physicians are brusque
I felt like a log floating
on a vast medical care river.
Not too much of death’s spectre this day
the task being
to burn off the bad cells
before they became cancerous.
I would feel
after the procedure
like I was struck by a truck
in the center of my chest.
For nutrition a day later
no solid food
need apply.
In all this dismalness
the hope of ‘pink magic’
was held out.
The pharmacy
pushed the prescription
‘pink magic’ was white
it is prescribed
to help retard pain
I did not know
but I now know
its “Pink Magic” aura
is hope
and it is white
and there is
some magic
less pain
and there is hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you for sharing. It is lovely.