Gina Marselle resides in New Mexico with her family. She is a teacher, poet, and photographer. She owns a rescue horse, dog, and currently is training her own service dog to help her with her disabilities. She has published a number of poems and photographs in many local anthologies and has a full length published book titled, A Fire of Prayer: A Collection of Poetry and Photography (Swimming with Elephants Publications, 2015). You can purchase her book online from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Fire-Prayer-Collection-Poetry-Photography/dp/0692360247
Follow her on social media on Instagram @musings_by_gina.
Follow her service dog and their journey on Instagram @be_like_wulf_gsd
Today,
the sun is out and shines warm.
It has been cloudy for days.
Winter lingering, wind blowing
like a gale in the desert.
Chasing the bird songs away.
Waiting for my MRI results—
it is a lot like winter.
Bad news, worst news, life changing news.
No news is punishing. My anxiety crippling
with this wait.
My report says complete ASAP,
5 days later, no results.
I call and the radiology supervisor
says it will be 3 weeks.
There are only
2 radiologist at the UNMH to read the results
for my type of MRI test for the abdomen.
Everyone else has left. I am in a state that
doctors leave. This state does not care about the helpers—
Teachers, medical, police… I know, I’m a teacher
21 years. No one knows my name.
I’m replaceable, I will not be missed.
Besides my test, there are 70 more results still to read.
ER patients are read first. Outpatients have to wait.
I should be an ER patient. I kept myself out
surviving on Pedialyte popsicles for 16 days.
I lost 11 pounds.
If it is cancer, I tell the supervisor,
I needed to have started the fight
yesterday.
(c) Gina Marselle
February 27, 2023
The poet getting ready for her MRI on 2/22/2023
(it was a 3 hour ordeal from start to finish)
“Look at the sky / It’s the colour of love…” ~Sade
Setting in firecracker fashion, she bursts wide. Orange glow burns—life is her philosophy since time first wandered over desert seas like an eagle soars looking for prey. Sun’s watchful eye sees New Year’s Joy for some. Heartache for others. Hear the saxophone blues play one note at a time.
I marvel at these old cottonwoods
Some with gold and brown leaves
Few still with green
Branches misshapen
Broken
Scorched
Age has only made this Bosque
More engrossed, tangled, wise
Small shoots regrow, becoming
Reaching for bird and sun
I cannot filter the trees into perfection
I can only wonder at their time in history
The chipmunks and squirrels who have
Made their home in the hollows
Of these old tree bones
Worn with time
My feet walk the path unseen
Comforted by this space in nature
This Bosque along the timeless Rio Grande
I stop to feel the grooves of a downed tree
I too am as worn
Wrinkled
An age spot on my right cheek
Gray hairs have rooted
I am fortunate to have reached this age
Still standing
Still becoming
Reaching for bird and sun
(C) 2022
Photo by my daughter, M.J.M. | “Becoming” | Taken in the Bosque
Stillness on this earth as it moves around the sun.
Wind in my hair.
Stealing breath and time.
There are more fish than birds,
more trees than stars,
more tears than laughter,
more hope than despair.
The Sunset in Black and White at USS Bullhead Park in Albuquerque, NM |(C) 10.13.2022The Sunset in Color at USS Bullhead Park in Albuquerque, NM | (C) 10.13.2022
Did you know: “It may surprise you, but there are more trees on Earth than there are stars in the Milky Way. According to a study published in Nature there are about 3 trillion trees on our planet. This far outpaces the “measly” 100-400 billion stars estimated to exist in the Milky Way.”
Miraculous colors crashed into the horizon. Fire ablazed and the sun burned. The air was silent. It’s stillness perfectly held my heartbeat between God’s hands.
Goodnight, Sun.
Until next time.
I have been inspired by the sunsets lately and inspired to write tiny odes to each.
Remembering 9.11, then on Monday, 9.12.2022, I learned of a colleague’s sudden death. On 9.13.2022, it was my mom’s one year anniversary of her death from a battle with breast cancer. I also learned my cousin is battling cancer this week.
Today, I wonder why I am so tired. Grief is exhausting.
Goodnight, Sun.
Sunset over a Walmart Parking Lot off Carlisle in New Mexico
The beauty of a sunset is that it doesn’t wait for you. If you wait a minute too long— poof, gone. Then you have to hope for another chance, another day. So don’t delay. Take the time now. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
Photo of the sunset taken by the poet on 8.6.2022 around 8:10 PM
“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.” ~Louisa May Alcott
The fatigue is real.
Inevitable,
like a ship sinking
or falling red wood.
My eyelids must close.
Even as I write.
I have to stop.
Place my pen down.
On the pillow
my head caves.
My body curves
into a fetal position.
Meds to high.
Meds to low.
Autoimmune
has a mind of her own.
Sadly, they come in pairs.
With marching orders:
“Take her down.”
“Be invisible so others don’t know.”
Napping is for babies.
But I am a mother of a 22 year old,
A nine year old. Nap I must.
Why does my body betray?
I sit so quiet. Eyes closed.
Meditate like still clouds in the sky.
I am the storm.
Wounded, but not defeated.
Fighting for a quality of life
that is more than
one foot in the grave.
That isn’t lead by anxiety & depression.
It is always exhausting—
to the point I am just alone.
No one wants to be around that doom.
It’s okay! Look away.
Turn the page. Walk away.
Forgotten–
like desert dust
after a monsoon.
I am not offended.
I don’t even want
to do anything anyway.
I may cancel our planned coffee date.
I may call to just cry.
There is nothing you can do,
but I sure appreciate
just knowing you care.
>Did you know:
“Nearly 4% of the world’s population is affected by one of more than 80 different autoimmune diseases, the most common of which include type 1 diabetes, multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, Crohn’s disease, psoriasis and scleroderma.
National Institutes for Health (NIH) estimates that they collectively affect between 5% and 8% percent of the U.S. population. For unknown reasons, the prevalence of autoimmune diseases is increasing.”
>Personal Note:
I am personally still learning about my disease. It took 14 years to finally get diagnosed with Hashimoto just 12 weeks ago. It is suspect that I have another autoimmune disease and will find out this week after other blood work.
I am sharing my story because people with invisible diseases or disorders often suffer alone. It’s sad and horrible. It is also difficult to get out and be around people. I also have severe anxiety and depression (depression comes and goes, maybe affected by Hashimoto and my mother’s death). Newly diagnosed with PTSD. Suffering from GI issues, it is challenging to find health. I have stayed silent for the most part, minue close friends and family. Sometimes it feels like just complaints, and humans don’t want to listen to complaints, especially without hope.
Saturday's Sirens 