Homecoming
Like Odysseus,
I've spent months
outsmarting monsters
that don't have names
in ancient Greek.
My cyclops
glows blue
and hums
before each treatment.
The sirens
sound like
good scan results
that teach me
not to celebrate
too early.
Every mile
home
costs more
than the last.
Christopher Nolan
will tell the story
with impossible scale.
Mine
is quieter.
One radiation appointment.
One infusion.
One prayer.
One more day
rowing
toward a version
of home
I haven't met yet.
Poem
Just over here
trying to figure out
how to pay bills,
be more present,
battle cancer,
give my kid an amazing life,
eat healthy, stay in shape,
save money,
not go insane.
An endless supply of surprise symptoms and side effects
“Brave the storm that was meant to break us…”
- Percy Jackson and the Olympians
From January to July
I was dying
the whole time…
Not metaphorically.
Not dramatically.
Quietly. Slowly.
One symptom at a time.
My body became
a house with alarms
going off in every room.
Nausea,
a stomach turning
against itself.
Heartburn,
a furnace burning
behind my ribs.
Bloody shits,
my insides spilling
the war I couldn’t see.
Constipation,
a body refusing
to let go.
Headaches,
a pressure drill
boring through my skull.
Body aches,
like every bone
had been bruised from the inside.
A perpetual back pain,
a dull knife
left twisted in my spine.
A shy bladder,
a traitor organ
whispering warnings
before every exit.
My body kept a ledger
of every insult,
every chemical assault,
every battle scar
no one else could see.
The world saw me standing.
It didn’t see
the battlefield
beneath my skin.
Lick the Lock
I resent my body
and the things
it is doing to me
the quiet betrayals
the hidden wars
beneath my skin
I carry its weight
like a sentence
I never agreed to
I listen for signs
in every ache
every change
as if I could bargain
with the hands
that built this cage
but still I wake
still I breathe
still I remain
and somewhere inside
this body I hate
something is holding on
something is fighting
without my permission
something is asking
to be loved
I Hate That I Am Getting Used to This
I hate that I am getting
used to this.
To doctors and needles,
and pain and fear.
To the language of bloodwork.
To waiting rooms.
To strangers saying,
"This won't hurt much."
I hate that I know
which vein behaves,
which elevator goes to oncology,
which ceiling tiles
to stare at during an infusion.
None of this
should ever feel familiar.
And yet,
somewhere along the way,
survival
became a routine.
What Punishments of God Are Not Gifts?
As I sit here and suffer,
I thank Hashem for the pain,
because it reminds me
I have lived and I am still alive.
It is, indeed, a gift to exist,
and with that comes suffering,
and there is no escaping that
whether you are Buddhist or Catholic.
I did not learn to be grateful
for the thing I wish most didn't happen,
but I have come to realize
it makes me more human.
If you are grateful for your life,
then you have to be grateful for all of it,
including loss and suffering,
because it allows you to love more deeply.
Imagine It's 10 Years From Now
It's a summer morning in 2036.
You're humming a song
from 2034 album
by a band who you found out about in 2033.
You're wearing your favorite shirt,
a birthday gift you received in 2031
from a friend you met in 2030.
You're halfway through
a book that didn't even exist yet.
Your daughter calls
to tell you about a promotion
she got.
You text someone,
"See you next week,"
without realizing
what a miracle that sentence is.
Later, you watch a movie
that won Best Picture in 2028.
Because my world didn't end
in 2026.
blackened by lightning
in the dense thickness of the fight,
the miles behind me and ahead,
I carry my absent father
the way a horse carries autumn.
I want to be a library for the dead,
a place where forgotten names
can still find a shelf.
I want to hold every ghost
that made me who I am,
every wound,
every unanswered letter.
The storm has left its mark.
I am not untouched.
I am blackened by lightning,
but I am still standing,
still carrying
what came before me.
Williamsburg in 2008
A beautiful hipster heaven,
I was there I swear I can help
These Gen Zs understand...
There were no influencers
We danced drunk at concerts
Not on phones for content
No dating apps
to make you feel lonelier
We just made out with
Who was at the bar with you
There was no Chanel store,
Whole Foods, Apple, or matcha core
If you were a young broke artist
You could still afford
To Rent a room without a trust fund.
It wasn’t all sad glass towers
On the waterfront
We got lost all night
Backs of cabs, blurry lights,
Five of the same texts
Where are you going next?
Sharing cigarettes on fire escapes
Clawing for hope in recession’s wake
Williamsburg in 2008
Felt like the coolest place to be
And how excited we were
For brunch at Enid’s
Then walk around Smorgasburg.
I was off my face
When they filmed the show Girls
In front of my girl’s place.
By the early 2010s
It was clear it was the end
Any hint of pulse or vibe
Was bled completely dry
I guess there is no way top stop it
Ill be sad when Gucci opens in Bushwick
Willytown in 2026
Literally makes me sick and nostalgic
I’m not there but I swear
I can barely set foot on Bedford.
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