“Spring” and all its ridiculous connotations

by lisa st john

I dreamt of her again last night. With the intense gaze of Manet’s Olympia, luscious dark hair, and flawless iridescent skin, she lounges with a magnifying grip like a cold steel clamp.

Atwood was right, the cancer cell is beautiful. And that bitch almost stole my husband.


The brave crocuses strain upward, oblivious to the possibility of freezing. According to March’s bi-polar, chaotic nature a final and icy belch is not unheard of.

Spring rains tend to uncover things best left unseen. The black-grey carbon monoxide snow dregs and the scrawniness of tree limbs waving like discarded bones litter the yard. Storm scars.

A monochromatic quality seems appropriate as I venture through the frost heaved potholes of this all too recent memory.

There are many things I do not know, like how mothers with bald, cancer ridden children maintain any semblance of normalcy. Yet I see them. They exist.

The love of my life is well. He had a “complete response” to the chemotherapy and radiation. That’s a medical euphemism for “we do not see any more cancer but we are not allowed to say it until 4 ½ years from now.”

Words are involuntary cohorts in this meager explanation, and one thing I DO know is that I am not done talking about it yet.


0 0 votes
Article Rating
Notify of

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

1 Comment
Oldest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Chance St. John
Chance St. John
10 years ago

I’m loving the blog posts Mom! Any thoughts of incorporating photography, or are you not as interested in that anymore?

Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
%d bloggers like this: