Adamantine — a poem about the anxiety of waiting for a diagnosis
Un
tethered
and un comfortable.
Petals in a frame
fling raindrops
at my flame,
but the fire's burned
too long
to be
so quickly
quenched.
Something festers,
something lurks
beneath the glow,
amid the work.
You see the results,
throw your weight
behind the program,
but there is
something amiss
beyond my
tight control.
The scans continue
and smiling doctors file in,
reporting flawless results
that contradict my symptoms.
But they attach importance
to my words now,
listen closely,
take me seriously,
no longer blaming
the peaks and pits
for the starts and fits.
No longer anxiety-prone,
I am now as adamantine as granite,
solid rock, unyielding stone.
I'll wait, sun-baked and fiery,
in patience until my body
gives up its secrets.
Photo by: Matheus Ferrero
