Muses of Metaphors

Today my father came home. My mother and I met with the hospice nurse. It was difficult to leave my mother alone. She has called me four or five times since I left. My children and I will be spending the next couple of nights at my parent's home. But I am tired, so tired. Tired of holding back the tears. Tired of holding strong. Tired of feeling out of control. Just tired.

I hear Maya Angelou singing her poem Caged Bird as I search for the metaphors. The caged bird opens her mouth to sing. I open my mouth in hope my silence might be heard by the muses hidden beneath the layers and layers of heaviness upon my chest. If only metaphors would become my cocoon and lift me up and away. Breaking the bars that imprison my father from any substantial existence would be a gift from heaven. This gift cannot come too soon. Yet I will have to carry my father up to heaven to make sure he is not afraid. I just don't want him or my mother to be afraid. Oh, muses of metaphors where are you when I need the strength to carry on? Maya, can you be my muse? Sing your beautiful metaphors into my ears, into my soul, so I can hold on to the words of the wise, the poet.

I bang my wings against this cage hoping that soon my family will be freed of witnessing a slow death day after day. My wings bleed from the force they expel in anger towards the cards my father was dealt. He is a great man. I wish for him to be free of the disease which has control of his mind and body. Oh muses of metaphors please come to me, speak to me, guide me to live, to love, to be.