Four foot eleven,
One hundred and ten pounds -
And she fights like an army
Of a hundred thousand
At the gates of Hell.
And her Hell is a tumor,
Grey and black within
Her flesh,
Swimming beneath the deep
In a visceral and blood ocean.
She hears the shark-theme music
Creeping softly into her ears.
Four foot eleven,
One hundred and ten pounds -
And God-infused, she looms
Above that tumor,
With the doctor behind her
Wielding sword-scalpels
Ready to slash that thing to Hell,
And slash it well.
Her thin-frail shadow
Upon the operating room floor
Disguises bones the strength of iron
And a heart of steel,
And we feel
The simple truth
That she ain’t going nowhere,
Not this grandmother of
Four foot eleven and
One hundred and ten pounds.
Written 5/7/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
I know I’m very late to the post here but I ran across your blog a while back and knew I had to return I just haven’t been able to until now and here I am at this post.
I wanted to say that it sounds very much like me, reminds me of me and could even be me.
I hope that you are well and I thank you for being you, for writing this and just thanks in general. I’ve not commented on anyone’s blog for a long time now (including my own
) but some power brought me here today.
Wishing you your modicum of peace and much more.
Thank you for your kind words. I wrote this about a co-worker’s grandmother who was recently operated on for cancer…and came out better than anyone had every hoped.
I believe in the triumph of the human spirit, the “I will not quit” attitude that keeps us going. Believe me, the lady I wrote this for is a fighter.
And judging from your blog, you are too.
Thanks for stopping by.
-Nicole