Old salts surviving the rough
seas of progressive disease,
we’d anchor, plan escape
whenever a new symptom
thundered in the distance.
In dawn of clear-sky hope,
we would pretend full sails
to that undiscovered isle
with exotic cures to halt
the attacks on your brain.
The latest weather report
tosses me into unknown
murky waters, head struggling
to stay above prognosis,
to avoid threatening rocks.
Test results disorient –
old nautical charts useless
in new, more dangerous storms,
dead reckoning impossible,
no previous markers matter.
I have lost my old bearings,
fresh assaults sting distressed eyes,
I try to steady my gaze
at sea level, hope horizon
reveals a way to navigate.
© Patsy Asuncion, 2013
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| Ships in a Raging Storm, c. 1690 by Ludolf Backhuysen Rijksmuseum Amsterdam from Wikimedia Commons |
5 comments:
I have great empathy with this poet because I was my dad's sole caretaker when he developed senile dementia. I also wrote a poem about being engulfed in a raging sea! It is quite a journey to go through with a loved one.
I have, fortunately not had to experience this particular challenge, but I feel that this poem is awesome and should be posted somewhere(perhaps through Hospice) where those who are on such a journey can read and hopefully feel that they are no so alone...that someone else is/has been there and understands. Beautiful! Anne
A moving and shining example of extended metaphor carefully wrought
Patsy,
Does your shift from first person plural to first person singular in stanza three and beyond indicate resignation that you alone would have to continue the fight?
Interesting observation. Sometimes it does feel lonely. Patsy
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