DAFFODILS
- Apr 10
- 1 min read
By Laurie Paternoster
I died once.
Let me explain.
When cancer strikes twice
you don’t wait
scheduling time
on a table for repairs
to an earthly body
struggling to survive
despite
the creeping odds
in 18 hours doctors ebbed
and flowed
exhausted
searching for answers
fresh eyes
boosting blood bags
scalpels slicing
into virgin territory
mining
for life-saving veins
supposed to be there but elusive
all of it
shoving minutes into hours
no solutions
fading away
I dreamt of
moist fertile
loamy earth
my bony
white hand
pushing up
through dirt
resistant clods
reaching for
blazing sunlight
I understood
to be waiting
longing to
shower
my frigid body
with fresh energy
and reviving warmth
erupting triumphantly
like bee-yellow
daffodils beside me
my mother’s favorite
appearing as stoic escorts
marching
into the cloudy unknown
before slamming me
into solid earth
no, sterile concrete
with blistering lights
rough hands
pulling me from bliss
demanding attention
voices urgently
calling calling calling