Pink Pom Poms
My breast cancer diagnosis arrived
on the most romantic day of the calendar.
Valentine’s Day came not with flowers and chocolates,
red hearts, love language, and passionate kisses.
But with “It’s cancer.”
I wrapped my arms around the coarse paper cape
required for surgeon visits. Wonder Woman was
nowhere to be found, no matter how hard I looked.
My heart was silent.
My mind absorbed an an old Latin hymn, scuttling back
from the past.
The doctor’s eyes questioned mine. I suppose he
asked me a question I did not answer.
I was too busy opening a box of colorful
conversation hearts. Messages of
cancer babe, cancer dancer, shake your pom poms,
be cancer free imprinted
on the candy hearts.
Once the fog lifted, ominous clouds pushed upward
and Latin words ceased to replicate inside me,
as if a cure was suddenly found, I heard options and
a timeline.
Surgery was successful. Daily radiation with its
spaceship hovering above me, seemed to work.
Cheerleaders with pink pom poms at every turn.
The shadow of cancer making a splashing comeback
remains, regardless of pink pom poms and rah rah rah.
It sits on my shoulder and echoes
the call of the common loon.
A fear of looking back only
to become a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife.
8 thoughts on "Pink Pom Poms"
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your final image captures the fear of recurrence well
Thank you very much. I thought about that for a long time.
Well written!
Thank you very much.
So much heart and story in your poem, the many waves of fears and hopes and triumphs and more fear–you captured your emotions so vividly. The “Cheerleaders with pink pom poms” is especially visual and impactful as repeated in this piece. Those last lines . . . 💙
Thank you very much for your detailed comment. I am pleased the emotions came through.
Powerful piece. It builds to that effecting and thoughtful last stanza, the true and natural call of the loon a hinge to me
Thank you very much.