Taste of Ashes
My life's one long emergency,Mick McKellar
Rushed to hospitals and clinics.
I crash and burn repeatedly,
But rise again like Phoenix.
Although I leave something behind,
In each of these fiery crashes:
A bit of heart, of soul, of mind,
I retain the taste of ashes.
And though I like my steaks well-done;
Cooked at leisure, eaten in haste;
I take no pleasure, have no fun,
Enduring that faux-charnal taste.
To cleanse my palate of that mess,
I find that I simply must go
Savor the flavor of success,
And devour my life with gusto!
As day 998 since my blood and marrow stem cell transplant dawned, I reflected on my long list of emergencies and flirtations with the hereafter. Each time I relapse (or collapse), and claw my way back to what passes for normalcy in my fragmented life, I am left with a bad taste in my mind — a bitterness that lingers until I remember the simply joy of waking up each morning — until I remember to savor life.