Claire Scott

In Between

Just finished twelve rounds of chemo
exhaustion stitching listless hours
of nausea, mouth sores, insomnia
now needing to wait months for the test
that will tell the color of the sail

Buddhists call this a bardo state
a time for spiritual growth
but gradual gloom is seeping my bones
like sludge from a toxic treatment plant
or a sepia alley, under a cold, carved moon
fast food wrappers blurring by

I ran a marathon forty years ago
my name announced as I crossed
the finish line after four hours
number two-hundred-twenty-seven
but the finish line has moved
more months, more miles
I limp on listless bones
toward an illegible future

A straight slide to the cemetery
like some deranged game of Chutes and Ladders
or a celebration of survival
sipping champagne, scooping oysters
hard to plan a trip to Marrakech
or sign up for a French conversation class
unless refunds are offered
if you are otherwise occupied

 

Illegal

They come to his work and take him
they say he illegal
he who fix cars for fourteen years
            the river deep and rushing
            children pulled under
he who pay tax to the US government
never once late
            more money or pushed off the truck
            two girls taken
no time to get clothes
smelling clean of Tide
no time to see his kids after school
touch their face
been over three months
lawyer never call
            shoved into a dank cell
            no air, no water, biting black flies
bail at two thousand
where they think I get that
how they think I live with no money
for medicine for our little Juanita
who need five white pills each day
more men locked in the cell
            taking turns sleeping on the floor
I left with broken English
and unbroken sorrow

 

Abandoned

Abandoned by gods of all stripes & shapes
even minor gods like Asclepius & Atropos
the gods hoping to find more favorable followers
wealthy enough to fill coffers
or fawning enough to caress colossal egos

More time to savor Mojitos, Pina Coladas
& Margaritas, lurching through
The Craft of Cocktails & An Alcoholic’s
Field Guide to the Promised Land
sometimes too blitzed, blasted, blotto

To limp through another day
my life a clusterfuck, a shit show
pathologically pathetic & certifiably ridiculous
sharing a shambolic space with empty bottles
& rotting lemon rinds

I turn to YouTube to find a tranquil tune
to calm the hammering in my head
& there is Andrea Bocelli singing Amazing Grace
a blind man reading music in Braille
offering gratitude to God

& I wonder if the gods have abandoned me
or is it I who have abandoned them

 

Claire Scott is an award-winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.