Aunt Cathy

Dial tones sound like flatline prayers for a connection to this earth

Like an old rotary the numbers spun in circles around her

But always counted down

My aunt’s vocals came clear as day over the speaker my phone was linked to

They travelled like ghost wanderings from recorder to receiver

Her voice knew her future before her doctors did

Halfway out the door and 2 feet in the grave

My aunt is dying

But don’t mistake this fact for fear

She has never been scared

She never hesitated each time death left a voicemail promising a bright tomorrow for them

Ever since she was a kid, she used to prank call the future

Tied mr almighty’s shoes together

And put kick me signs on the reaper’s robes

My aunt has been jumping from flatlines to fault lines

Living in the eye of each storm and kicking up dust with mud slide renditions of chutes and ladders

My aunt is a natural born disaster

A born natural disaster.

She had dark clouds under her eyes, but electricity crackled in her smile each time she laughed

Let a select few watch raindrop tears streak lash lined windshields

She’s been carrying mass weight with her these last 4 years

Each step moved masses

And each step made masses

Until masses eventually made her

Cathy who is so far from cancerous her own friends and family would have undergone chemo to keep her from it

A long line of former classmates and coworkers who would sooner cannonball into her waterless grave than let her sleep there

Put her on such a pedestal that the casket will have to be 4 feet higher than others

A shallow grave for the deepest person I’ve ever known

The irony soaks into the soil turning raindrops metallic like full metal jacket music notes

Playing percussion on the memories I still have until the music is so loud they sound like thunder beats on drum skin.

My mother

Has spoken sermons to the sunshine filled yesterdays of her peace corps service

Has sworn the only thing she misses more than my sister and I when we leave were the local markets and the rains back in africa

But I bet she would happily trade lifetimes of cliched song lyrics for 5 more minutes of her

Donate decades off her own timeline for more erickson’s ice cream trips and cheerleader concussions

Cathy

Youre still sitting in mausoleums writing epitaphs on medical charts until your history is etched in stone cold steel hospital beds

Wringing your hands until your knuckles are as tough as your irish catholic upbringing

Clasp them tight as you remember sunday school prayers and recite them during each infusion

Utter hail mary’s as they try to cleanse your organs of the mutated sins you never volunteered for

Spend your sunday hours surrounded by god’s soon to be house guests

I never believed in him

But i always believed in you

So I’ll keep praying until they resonate like your future flatline

Like I’m trying to listen in on heaven

Rather than admit I’m losing it