Prostate Cancer
The world was silent.
Well, not really.
It carried on in it's
Usual ruckus of noise
As if nothing had changed.
But my ears were no longer listening.
Four wheels pulled into the parking lot
And we all walked inside
Clear glass doors,
Transparent and cold.
Our shoes trudged on through
Endless, white hallways with muted accents,
leaving breadcrumbs of white in their trail.
Turn left
Right
Left
Left
Right
STOP.
A familiar door stood
tall and obtrusive against the left wall.
I sank into a seat,
Staring unseeingly at colorless tile floors
For. . . a minute?
An hour or a day?
Timeless moments.
Then, a creak of the door
Motioned inside
by my father's fingers.
Upon entering,
Tiles faded away
As my eyes rose to
White sheets,
Shiny metal,
And once warm hands that
Lay still.
Your eyes were open,
That shine gone
And skin, a sickly, pale yellow,
A color I would passionately hate
For months to come.
How could you leave?
I am only nine,
Still needing your guidance
Because though I have known
God since I can remember,
Sometimes
I don't understand Him.
Especially now.
You won't be there
For my attack a
Few months ahead.
Breaking my leg,
Graduation,
College,
Or my wedding.
You won't get to know
The hatred I feel
Every breast cancer month
or "awareness" event
During which I want to shout
"We are all aware!
What are you really going to do?"
Because when the male equivalent
broke into your temple
turned your cells against you
robbed the breath from your lungs
We don't notice.