Waiting Room






Waiting Room


cheerful warden waves
white-knuckled I wait
silently squared up against
my mortality.

not ready.

“it won’t be long dear”

I can hear them wonder,
impatient faces stare
as sterilized time t.i.c.k.s.


the hall
the needle sticks
through the unsteady glare
of boney chrome branches
dripping Buddha bellied bags
of top-shelf toxins
crafted to smash rogue cells
that slipped stealth-like
past the scalpel.

my fidgety file

s i t s

pathology spits
like the lyrics
to a bad rap song

I don’t belong here.




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31 Responses to Waiting Room

  1. Becky Kilsby says:

    Christi you capture the hollow, fearful wait so painfully… every read brings it home more forcefully. Beautiful craft for an ugly, terrible situation…

    Among the sharp language choices, this really captures:

    white-knuckled I wait
    silently squared up against
    my mortality.

    So glad to know you are well…

    • Christi Moon says:

      thanks so much Becky. It was a white-knuckled wait indeed.

      I was diagnosed the day before Christmas eve in 2005. I lost my only sister to this several years ago. can’t say enough how important early detection is.

      thanks again Becky, your feedback is most appreciated. xC.

  2. brian says:

    shivers…i dont want to be here either…great alliteration really drive the pace of this piece, but your imagery is haunting…felt like i was in a hospital waiting…

  3. Pat Hatt says:

    That’s the one place I avoid at all costs, no one wants to be there.

  4. Chris G. says:

    Nice form, Christi – the way this flows, the varying structure – they paint a curious ensemble of a work further driven by strong language and a dark situation. Well done.

  5. Strong poem, hard to read. Can only imagine as haven’t gone through personally, but people dear to me have and currently are. Admiring their courage, and yours. So glad you came through and were able to share this.

  6. this is a haunting piece christie – really gave me shivers…you so well capture the atmosphere in waiting rooms…i can hear this clock tick throughout the whole piece

    • Christi Moon says:

      thanks so much Claudia. It was a haunting and harrowing time… I had spent many days in that same cancer center a few years prior watching my mother battle this disease so it was very surreal to find myself back there. I have so much to convey about this period time, but still find it difficult to write about this. one word at a time I suppose.

      thanks again for taking the time to read and comment. xC.

  7. Steve King says:

    I guess many of us have been there…what a great reflection. Excellent writing…you conveyed so much in just a few lines.

  8. Natasha says:

    OMG! I hate the feelings that well up inside~which ultimately means I love the write. The cold, bold faced, ticking clock…only to be found where death hides…as life has embraced the digital era! This one will invade this evenings dreams, I’m sure!

    • Christi Moon says:

      thanks Natasha– I am glad to hear that the piece made you feel uncomfortable ( it a good way). That clock sounded like a time-bomb ticking in an echo chamber.

      appreciate you taking the time to read and comment. — C.

  9. I’m in awe of how well you convey your feelings here – the confrontation of something we all face and the wait we all endure for our unknown end. You’ve written potent, brave, and deeply affecting poetry, Christi. I used to run a nonprofit arts center that provided (among many programs) art therapy for breast cancer patients. Our art therapist was a survivor. The organization partnered with Susan G. Komen and later the NEA to bring services to historically/medically underserved populations.

    • Christi Moon says:

      thanks so much Anna. seems impossible to capture the ‘psychological warfare’ of it all with words.

      Kudos to you for taking part in such life-changing projects. These porgrams benefit so many that would not have access to care/services without the hard work and compassion of individuals like yourself.

      I am participating in a Susan G Komen race for the cure this month on the 23rd.

      thanks again. xC.

  10. Sheila Moore says:

    oh, wow…I would love to hear this one read aloud. a somber piece indeed, however, the Buddha bellied bags kind of made me smile.

    • Christi Moon says:

      thanks Sheila for taking the time to read and comment, I appreciate the feedback. maybe I will soundcloud this one 🙂

  11. Ann LeFlore says:

    This was excellent and a bit on the haunting side. I do love poems of this nature and so I did enjoy it so much

  12. Morning says:

    spooky imagery, love how you played with the words and make a strong impression on your readers.

    way to go.

  13. I, too, have been a cancer patient sitting among the Buddha-bellied bags dripping toxins into me from boney chrome branches. I love the originality of your expression in this piece. Made me see my own experience in a new way. May you be well! And keep writing!

    • Christi Moon says:


      thanks for taking the time to read and comment. sorry to hear that you have had similar experiences. this is a club none of us wanted to join. all the best to you. xC.

  14. jburgess says:

    My sister was diagnosed Inflammatory Breast cancer August 2009. after Chemotherapy,double mastectomies, Radiation therapy. and countless hours pleading for relief from and to a higher authority, to no avail. The Doc’s only gave her 5 MG Norco painkiller. Jesus she may as well have been taking Tylenol. She was very closed to her family. she suffered terribly through the process and at the end especially. She died February 23,2010. 6 months later. There is no history in any member of the family of any type of cancer. She was 62. Tears form at my eyes.

    • Christi Moon says:

      very sorry to hear of this devastating loss. thank you for taking the time to read and comment. best wishes– Christi

  15. ed hart says:

    i’m thinking it’s hard to get to where we don’t belong, but i sure like the way you say it

  16. Emma says:

    Christi, this piece gets me every time I read it. You’ve captured the agony and anxiety of waiting for the unknown so well. I’m sorry you had to endure this, but glad you overcame. You’ve invited us all into that moment so clearly I can almost smell it.

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