My last morning as a 34-year-old will be spent in an MRI machine. The whirring will make my mind wander. I’ll think back to my 25th birthday, & how things changed so drastically just one week later. I’ll think about how I wasn’t ready for those changes. I’ll remember how I fought myself for control of myself. I’ll think about how I was finally going to go to college back then, but I missed my first day of class. I was forced into an MRI machine instead. The hospital invited me for an extended stay that time. I found out on day six that my financial aide hadn’t been approved anyway. I remember thinking I’d have to find something else to do, & more importantly, how I’d get my failing body to do it.
Gemini New Moon
Flip side shadows are birthing
Dark begin again
Last days. We never expect them. We worry about whether or not today is one of them. I know this. I’m not surprised anymore when the worst things happen. However, I don’t sit & wait for stars to collapse & fall around me. Or for a fiery inferno to consume me & all I hold dear. No, I carry on. I don’t fight anymore though. I prefer to flow.
Saline ocean bags
Renew a desert carcass
Cacti rest inside
I’m tottering another brink. This could be the last day I run. Or cry. Or breathe. The last day I didn’t feel pain is one I can’t even remember, but I made sure to smile today. I’ll smile when the technician forgets to give me headphones. I’ll remember the last time he forgot them, & how a loud, grating lullaby might be just what a person needs from time to time. What the doctor would order if it were his last day of being good.
The trees age in rings
Years coil around me like snakes
My last night as a 34-year-old, I hope to dream in shades of green. I hope to wake up with a soft humming in my head. I hope the voices that called out to me from within the shrieking machine don’t return. I hope it’s the last day I care about how I’m perceived. I hope this year I can finally let go completely.
Unseen eye sentinel
From the other side
© Jennifer Patino (2018)