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I have about fifteen minutes to write this. We’ve had a lot on the docket today, and we’ve many more gatherings to attend. We started with a preschool parent-teacher conference this morning, found out that town is nearly out of carving pumpkins, finally found three, came home, I cobbled together my costume, carved the pumpkins with the fam, and now I have very little time before I have to don my Mrs. Bank’s (Votes for Women!) ensemble before we leave for trick or treating and halloween parties and, for the grown-ups, a halloween Sir Mixalot concert. Yes, you heard me right. Sir Mixalot. Then tomorrow we get up super early and drive to Pullman for the USC v Washington State game.

Sigh. The fun things make me feel rushed and anxious. I know it will be better than last year, though, when I was in surgery. The hospital staff had dressed up. It was surreal. I’m going to write a poem really fast about that, and go have The Fun.

Halloween Hysterectomy

A Russian Beet Farmer with rubbed-raw arms check us in, strapped my data to my wrist, nurse Brian Wilson, number 3 in Seahawks Green, hustled us down the hall, into the room for waiting. Sexy nurse with the red cheeks, red lips, red cross hat wrestled with a new system and was not reassuring, needed help from the antennae’d and the Bengals defense. The calming surgeon with orange trolls dangling from her ears, and only pirate to find my veins after girl John Lennon tried and tried, HP, in his everyday invisible superhero cape, bright but worried and we rolled down the hall, to bright yellow ER, were the team was waiting, doctors dressed like doctors, and five, four, three. No time passed. Only four hours. And then, the recovery nurse in a purple glitter wig and shiny eye-makeup, and the orderly clown with the ice chips, a floaty understanding of a new but distant pain, transport through the children’s ward, odd choice of hallways, staffed with bunnies and teddy bears, to the room where he waited with the realest grin of a love tempered again, by getting through.


Love you HP. Thanks for being my superman. Happy Halloween, Poemfriends! What are you wearing?