October: Breast Cancer Awareness month

It’s October. Breast Cancer Awareness month, in case you didn’t hear. I’m feeling guilty because I usually start the month out with a blog about it, Facebook reminders, etc. This month is half-gone and I’ve done nothing. I usually do the walk, but this year, this crazy, busy year has just rushed along without me doing so many things I wanted to do. All I can say is: I did my writing. The garden, the little projects, the fun kind of took a back seat to some other priorities.

The big one being helping my son move his music store, MusicVillage. I thought moving a home a daunting task, but moving a business and all that includes is overwhelming, but it’s moved and better than ever.

Still, I want to do what I can for Breast Cancer Awareness month. I wanted to do the walk this year, but couldn’t, but even the smallest effort combined makes the biggest difference.

So, for the warriors, survivors, supporters, caregivers, loved ones and the departed…for my sixth grade teacher, Maude, for my mother and mother-in-law, for Marilyn and Mary, my daughter-in-law’s mothers in the fight, for Tami, my daughter-in-law’s mother, who I hope never is, for my sister, my sister-in-laws, my daughter-in-laws, my granddaughters, for my dear friends, writing and non I want to share a poem I wrote. Someone said it was a poem that I needed to cast out in the world. I thought about trying to get it published, but instead, I’m going to share it here and donate what I might have received from publishing it here

If it touches you, if you want to share this or even feel inspired to donate, I'd be honored and who knows it might just help.

SONGBIRDS



The sweet sparrow song echoes through
steeps and slashes of uncharted land
where outbound trails are littered with
collateral damage. Women interrupted—
the scarred, the wounded, the fallen,
 sisters, daughters, friends and mothers,
 her mother.





She was not armed. She was not trained.
She never meant to wade into that fray,
hike precarious mountain ridges
of that backcountry, nor
foot-slog those daunting vistas,
switchbacks and long gentle sloops.
Enlisted into guerrilla warfare






she joined loosely formed columns
armored with nothing more than
flamingo-colored chemo caps,
hauberks and caregivers surcoats. And
marched the streets, pink standard held high,
singing the only battle cry she knew:
Fight like a girl.



Songbirds sing after the battle.
Only survivors know that,
bless her heart.