This one holds special significance for me. As a kind of cri de coeur (cri de guerre?), I think it spoke both to her battle with illness and her battles overall. 36 hours before she died, we were speaking with her doctor. Her doctor said two things that will stick with me forever. First, “she’s really tough, isn’t she?” And, second, “her lungs still sound clear.” Victory was hers.
—Richard Lingua
victory is mine, a poem
you thrive on fear, but i slow you, stay you, sink my nails into you as i sink my nails into the moon knock if you must, but i have barred the door i have hung a magic amulet from the rafters my screams rise silent as a roar, black as a sun they rise from a living heart, pierce the numb sky my laugh is a cackle scratching your yellow eyes i grow tired but spring back again, a wilting rose newly watered night done and i’ve won battle over the puce and putrid that filled my lungs – i breathe, i breathe and tenderly i poem as if there would ever and always be another sun i am here to race and tear, to rail and gag still i laugh, still i love come you must at close of day, but your soul is prose and mine is poem, triumph belongs to the Eternal in me …..victory is mine
©2016 Jamie Dedes
All rights reserved
The BeZine 
A poem that calls us to her and to continue here fight
LikeLiked by 1 person