by Karen Williams

Created on: December 17, 2009   Last Updated: December 18, 2009

I.

I rarely spent hours
In the sun those days -
It caused wrinkles.

But that day, I did.
I found myself
Developing a classic case
Of bleacher burn
In a Little League baseball park
On a dazzling Saturday morn.

My little boy, age ten,
Made a triple play
As I watched in awe,
Parental endorphins surging.

Afterwards: a team lunch.
He devoured chicken,
Lips smacking like a barbarian.

I snitched his napkin;
He grabbed it back.
I misplaced my purse;
He found it.

"I didn't really like the 'cold' slaw,"
He said as we crossed the street to the car.
And then: "Mom, what would it be like
To get your feet run over?"

"I dunno," I laughed,
"Hope I never find out."

A simple day that somehow shimmered.


II.

Nine years before
I had watched shadows deepen
In a hospital room as
A doctor in a plaid sports coat
And mild acne told me
I had advanced cancer.
I fell backwards off a cliff
Into oozing night.

Exploratory surgeries:
The doctor was Livingstone;
I was deepest Africa.

Chemotherapy:
With every up-chuck
I was one closer to health,
I rallied myself.

Radiation:
The rads were not "rad"
In contemporary vernacular.

Then: Vitamins by the crate,
Exercise with a vengeance,
Stress reduction (yeah, right!),
Creative visualization,
Marinating in people's love.

At last: spontaneous healing!


III.

It was worth every ounce of effort:
That one glistening day,
A ballpark lunch,
And Babe Ruth with freckles.

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