The Cancer Chronicles, continued

barefoot doctor

pain creeps up like an angry cat

ready to rip your throat out

should you make the  wrong move.

During sleep 

I opt for dreams

instead of medication

and wake with aching bones

untouched by the morning dose.

Combing crystals through the air

I collect and discard

the sudden mud

of my aura,  and

Tuning forks sing their song

into my flesh

dancing with my bones

To bring peace

&

quiet.

Sometimes I boogie,

sometimes I don't

I pick and choose my medicine.

Crystals to clear and nurture,

Power songs to weave a circle

where I will sit for a moment

In time

transforming energy,

redirecting qi.

But this metastatic cancer

is a harsh mistress

Often refusing to budge

with either Oriental recipes

or Occidental masks.

Sometimes things work, bringing

relief, or tolerance, and

letting me believe in magic

once again.