24th February, 2015. 3:00pm
As the pulse beating in your hands slowly fades, I look around for possible aids. “Do something,” my head persuades, but in my heart, I know I’m just playing charades, pretending I could turn the lemons handed to me into lemonades.
When I look into your fingers that are turning cold and yellow, tears in my eyes, like a river, they suddenly flow. I put them in my warm hands like a breaking glass mistletoe, hoping I could stop the deathblow. “But this is no accident, no, for your info,” I told myself, “you gotta deal with the sorrow.” Because sooner rather than later, you’ll surely be in limbo. And as the maestro plays the final act with the piano and the cello, your ten cold fingers wave their final hello like a crescendo.
So even when the lemons are rotten, and your body soon may be ashen, I promise you will never be forgotten. Feelings, especially our hearts, for a while may be frozen, but I believe you will always watch us from the heaven.
Writing today’s assignment—fingers, prose poetry, assonance—is easy. Really, the only thing I had to think about was achieving today’s suggested form, prose poetry. It was also a bit ominous that today’s prompt is about fingers, because right now, our family is going through a rough road.
About the concept:
Speaking about rough road, I dedicate today’s assignment to my grandma, who is growing weaker by the day. About a few days ago, I posted an entry called “Cutting the Cord” about how she simply wants to die but at the same time, hoping to still live. She stayed in the hospital for a week (*the doctor’s diagnosis was Cancer, but we didn’t bother knowing which and what stage anymore, because she may still not survive Radiation and Chemo, anyways), but with the doctor’s blessing, my aunts and uncles decided to just take her home and make her feel comfortable instead.
This morning, as I was preparing to start working, my sister updated me about her situation. She told me that she’s now using oxygen because she’s already having a hard time breathing. She also told me her fingers are starting to get cold and yellow now. That’s where I drew my inspiration from. The final moment I had when I held my own mother before she slipped away.
I’m not sure if I nailed the prose poetry form, but I think I got the assonance part right. As you can see, I used different vowels with each line—A, O, and E. I also kept the rhyming thing, because after seven days of doing this short course, I realized how in love I am with making things rhyme. Is that a crime? (**Sorry, I just can’t help it)
These days, it was like going through that road again. It was hard, but it was something we need to go through. And though losing someone we love may be the hardest thing anyone can go through, the sun will always come out tomorrow, and new lemons will be handed for us to make new lemonades with.