Crossing the Pemigewasset

This is how I like to remember us.

On a fine summer day, crossing on foot
the swift thin Pemigewasset River
in our White Mountains.

Not that we couldn’t have walked upstream
to the bridge, like the others.
It seemed more interesting to hop
from one granite rock to another.

It starts out easily enough. One jump,
then two and three in quick succession,
barefoot on sun-warm stones, shoes in hand.

A problem. The next available step already
submerged in the cold rushing water.
You slide one foot onto it and find
your ground, the other foot following softly.

I come next and feel the slimy rock
slip underfoot, the cold water swirling
around my ankle until feeling creeps away.
I curl my toes to gain a better grip.

Now comes the commitment.
You toss your shoes, then mine
to the opposing bank.

The next step in error. The stone
deeper than it appears. With the cold now
caressing my thigh, I pause to survey
my options. You are still near enough to touch
so I take your hand and then,

we begin to fall.

The unsteady feeling of falling backward,
now forward, knees buckle, arms flail,
grabbing at nothingness,
until all we feel is wet and cold and
there is nothing for it but to laugh.

And so we do.

Our friends having reached the other side
safely by bridge wait, puzzled and dry,
on the rocky shore.

My diagnosis. Mine. You hear it over
and over at the cancer center.
Funny this need to own it.

Mine came at me from nowhere.
One minute at the crowded office holiday party.
Secret Santa surprise.

The next alone in my cold kitchen,
playing back the message from the doctor:
“Call me at home. Anytime. Please!”

Doctors don’t give you their
Home phone number for no good reason.

The kitchen floor was hard. My high heels
Clicking nervously after I dialed and paced and paced.

The phone rang slowly. One dog threw herself
Down at my feet and snorted, expecting dinner.

And then I was curled on the couch,
Both dogs agitating around me, throwing their black,
sealskin bodies at me, bringing me back to life.