This poem was buried in one of my journals. My dear friend Beth has been excavating for me and pulled this one. It feels almost like an index for parts of my book— curious if there are pieces that you want to read more about.
Have I been?
so hard to tell
to gauge
since May
I do remember it being so much worse since May
Do I need to try another surgery?
I have completely stopped all the western medicine since the last one
Don’t have energy
Don’t want to use my energy
driving to Denver for another spinal tap
to the neurologist in Longmont for more of those electrified needles
that pour blood down my side
to the cardiologist in Fort Collins
that makes me take off my shirt to hook me up to that machine
not knowing that I am braless
I didn’t biopsy the tumor on my spine and didn’t go back for the myelogram I don’t want to deal with the dye that they will pump into me The dye that makes me wonder if I am going to die Toxic overload Those huge horse needles in my back how they penetrate my spinal column Is this really going to heal me? I want to spend my energy writing in ritual and magic, in the vibrancy i feel inside of me creating the life that is a legacy of me If I can’t have kids Since I’m not going to have kids Can I let that go, the idea of having kids? Let it go so I can make myself available to the descendants? The queer ones and sick ones, the witches who need me as their ancestor
What kind of ancestor will I be? How will they find me? What is this call and why is it so strong? It feels urgent The urgency of disability Between the flashes of the fever There is a stillness A moment where I can get up and do laundry The waves The pain comes in waves It’s not static Ride the crashing break and just keep writing Surf the soft swell and get my dry brush with the long wooden handle Activate the underarms and the groin crease Where the big lymph processing factories are This filtration system Practice going slow along the meridians Focus on the creases up the medial side of my legs Up my inner arms Study the flow of the lymph The vast, intricate highway system that stretches across the entire body along the head along the feet along every inch of skin It’s a ritual I sit in the hot sauna bag and sweat and then I go upstairs and set my timer for 3.5 minutes and turn on the coldest water Everyday I freeze myself after i boil in the infrared sauna bag Everyday I eat 46 pills and they marvel or gag at how I swallow them by the handful
Maybe this is resilience
Maybe this is freedom
To find ritual in the things that keep my body going
To find solace in the rhythm of it all
In the hope of another day
In the hope that my legacy is simply having been 
"What kind of ancestor will I be?" And "how will they find me?" ...these!