Chemotherapy
Joan Papalia Eisert
The slate-green of the cubicle
effuses into the air onto her
caressing her
soothing her
encouraging her
This green . . .
I grasp for the psychobabble about colors --
orange will stimulate our appetites
pink will make us all beautiful
green green green
green will will us to live
But she is oblivious to the crawling verdure
She is patient
She is tolerant
She is accepting the punctures of the I.V.
like sacred stigmata;
she is forgiving the murdering cells
While I would see only black
and follow the creeds of Josef Mengele,
Lizzie Borden, Hannibal the Cannibal, and
Nicolae Ceausescu in a foamed-mouth frenzy
mutilating, decapitating, gorging, and bludgeoning
every attempt at civility
I would beg and provoke
I would squirm and preen
for the delicious dread in my doctor's eyes
as he watched me fingerpaint with me feces
on pathetic sterile sheets
