I'm sick and this sucks

Sighing back to work,
feeling a little like a let down,
but it's not my fault-
my responsibility
but not my fault.

My lungs are fighting for air
because of some dumb illness
lingering around me
like an over-stayed guest.
Remind me to buy orange juice.

I'll survive. I hope.
I'm at least taking better care
of myself than my littler friend
who has it worse.
Modern medicine is amazing.

Easter Vigil

It's dark in the basilica.
The lights are all off
(except for the small ones
by the emergency exit
because this is both a place of prayer
and a museum)

when suddenly a fire roars to life-
maybe I'm overdramatizing that
but candles slowly make their way
cutting through the darkness

until this old and gorgeous church
is lit by the candles of the faithful

my friend succumbs to sickness during the service,
and I keep her down in the pew,
rubbing circles into her back to ease her lungs
while my lips whisper old french prayers

The Light of the World returns,
no matter what He rises.
The basilica is bright and beautiful
to reflect His Glory

even in a pew
keeping an ill friend
this side of conscious,
worship of the Divine is still possible

Joyeux Paques!

I watched a woman die
as I leaned out a 9th story window.

It was a busy affair-
and the news won't tell me much more than
"she's in critical condition"-
but the paramedics did CPR.

I watched them,
the men and women from the ambulance,
one at her side
the other at her head,
as they forced her heart to beat
and her lungs to take in air.

About 30% of CPR patients live.
This time they also had to use the AED.

I watched for several minutes,
useful only to pray,
as they placed the woman onto a backboard
and carried her into the ambulance,
doing CPR the entire time,
ceaseless,
unending,
changing the medics as necessary.

I watched them drive away,
the streets still blocked off,
and still,
I could only pray
for the woman I watched die.

Drove and drove,
and here I am,
sitting in a different country
tired but happy
to see new spaces
and breath in new air,
with friends at my side.

I spent my afternoon
cleaning and then breathing-
relaxing?
reclining?

being?

I spent it happy,
whatever verb it is I'm missing.

I spent it
breathing in the company
of people I like,
of a person I love,
and what could have been a better start
to an extra-long vacation?

Limping towards break,
basically,
counting down days,
ready to give up
but not giving in,
for soon it will be
freedom

There is a man
filling my life
with color and joy,
with flowers-
I never knew
I could smile so wide
so often
yet here he is,
proving me wrong
as a grin stretches
with the effort to express
just how much
I want to explode with joy.

Rain is falling,
but where it once fell
on a panicked junior
who didn't know what
she was going to do

it now falls on a content
senior who maybe doesn't
have all of life figured out
but she's accepted that's okay.

I did it.

One last time.

My dance is on the stage,
my art,
my creation
realized through the aid
of so many,
but it's mine,
and people like it-

It feels like they like me.

I'm not saying artists need validation,
but we totally need validation.

It's the last time,
probably,
that I'll pick up
the mantle of choreographer.

I am so glad the premier went well.
Two more performances to go.

Music,
Played live,
Bright and joyous-
Oh he's smiling and nodding-
To the delight of all.

Then dancing,
Happy and light,
Until feet and shoes are worn,
But you're in someone's arms
So exhaustion doesn't matter.

Then magic,
Colored ball gowns
And bright smiles
In a retelling of a timeless story
With kisses from friends
And the warmth of blankets.

Rage-

rattling around in my chest
like the claws of a tiger
across the bars of a cage-

hemmed in by care
and non-confrontational desires,

as a friend kills another by inches,
wounding me the same way
only because I stepped in between them,
stronger than the little one,
older,
to shout "bas,"
to declare "enough"
with the sharp hand
and power of a Bollywood father
when a vampire's fangs
sink too close to the heart.

I will not destroy her.
I can't,
intentionally.

But bit by bit,
I can dole out warnings,
advice,
demands that she mend-
and if all else fails,
I will grab the little one
but the scruff of his neck
and drag him out from underneath
her downward trajectory.

The thick clouds,
In reflecting the lights,
Have made dusk of late night.
There is a singular wild beauty
To the hush that is winter,
Nature holding its breath,
Waiting to spring to life.
It's quiet
But not calm,
Humming with the tension
Of paused growth
Ready to rage
The minute the weight of cold and wet
Melts to give way
To the warmth of summer sun.