Six Weeks into Chemotherapy
Laura Paul Watson
To be unseen, unprayed for, to be unhugged
in the grocery store and left alone
to select a melon. To be rooted
against, discomforted. To receive
no advice. God, let me be
ordinary. Invisible. Let me struggle
in the usual ways (stubbed toes, taxes)
and inspire no one in my misfortune.
To have all my misfortunes grow small.
To be dull as a leaf.
My neighbor lifts me to the Lord
in the middle of the street
and one of us feels better.
Oh, to be chronic. Hairy.
To add time to my own tragedy.
To do the way I did.
I’m a slick thing, sunken.
I’ve set my nerves on fire.
I’ve let go
a thousand birds
inside this body.
Oh, to be let go.
To hold onto
instead of being held.
I want to do all the holding.