Appointments with Death

The mosquito-borne parasite Plasmodium falciparum A veiled ladyDances slow measured tango stepsOn a ballroom of red blood cellsDisguising herselfShe skilfullyPlays, A genetic game Of hide-and-seekThe mosquito-borne parasite Plasmodium falciparumA veiled lady Wrapped in tightly bound bundlesOf red organza Swirls in rhythm, CamouflagedAmong helpless, Ruptured red Blood cellsAlert immune system spiesSensing dangerAstutely identify This red veiled ladyDancing disguisedSounding the alertThey spring to defenceOnly to have her Deftly switch form, Change makeup, costumeSixty different genesSixty different protein shieldsA united force lined upBarely discernible DemandingMy body play catch-upAs plasmodium falciparumSwitches first one masked geneThen another, relentlesslyPreservingThe disguiseWeary I lieRed cells rupturedMy body Listlessly battles The wily parasiteBefore I succumb I mustLike Captain Kirk Unravel the secrets Of the veiled parasitesInvisible power over me I wrote this poem many years ago. I thought I was writing about cancer. Now I realise that I was writing about a form of cancer that aflicts so many of us who live with loss and grief on a daily basis. Grief is cancerous. It ravages and weakens us. It eats away at any feelings of joy.  The truth is that the mosquitoe-borne parasite injected me a long time ago. I have carried the burden of the loss and sense of grief of significant others all my life. And there is no respite. Here I am sitting in death's waiting room again as more significant others await their appointment with death. On Monday it was my mother's dog.  The kick on is the impact of this on my mother. The truth is that I have been watching her weaken for months. Whenever I stay I am not convinced she will still be here in the morning. Now the death of her mate seems to have broken her. My companion animal, the creature who has witnessed so much over recent years is failing too. Only last week I was told his heart was deteriorating and the heat and the grief here seems to have weighed heavily on him.  I went through all of this with Darryl, watched him weaken till he could not lift himself, saw him become a dead weight and then die slowly. Why am I being made to watch and sit in this waiting room over and over and over and over?  Weary I lie Red cells ruptured My body Listlessly battles The wily parasite I am hoping a 'new drug' has emerged that will rid me of this wily parasite.