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 |
