Leave it to me to have an uncommon condition
Iron deficiency, long-standing; an early clue
Tick, tick, tick, a ticking bomb
Testing me; fatigue, weakness, dizzy spells
Ornery bugger, anemia
Readily alleviated, then relapsing
All eyes on the blood, missing the hidden agenda
Leave it to my body to hide a rare illness
Count down; days, weeks, years; who knows
Everything happens in due time
Lingering in corners; left side pain; splenomegaly
Leave it to me to have a Cancer scare
Assessment of a cyst-like mass, an ultrasound finding
Needles drawing bone marrow; Leukemia warning
Grateful when the procedure was through
Iron infusion therapy prior to splenectomy
Obsolves my benign tumor; biopsy confirms
Mending; emotional, physical, and spiritual recuperation
Anatomy free of affliction; leave it to me to heal
About the Creator
Marilyn Glover
7x Medium boosted poet, editor, and Reiki Master who is at her best when in nature. Creating to boost humanity while often not coloring within the lines. Follow me at: https://gmarilyn009.medium.com/
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Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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