Dream of the Cancer Cure
Imagine: instead of fighting the tumor
with knives, radiation, chemicals,
we feed it — like summer picnickers who,
tired of swatting the buzzing swarm,
lay out a separate plate of meat
and cheeses for the bees.
While the tumor calmly swells
onto its bedside petri dish of food, nourished
by everything it needs and wants,
you lie in bed — read People, knit a scarf,
chat with your aunt Ezgi on the phone.
Until one day the cancer is no longer in you
at all — but a pulsing mass grown separate
on its tray. That now the surgeon will cut free,
severing veins and arteries that once
bound it to you like a baby. Deliver you of it —
carry it howling and dripping away.
*
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
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19 comments:
Peter,
This poem affected me in a very profound way. I have printed it out and placed it above my desk at the hospital. Is this new, Peter? Beautiful work.
Thanks, C Dale. Yes, very new.
Oh god, this is stunning.
Wow. Peter, this poem is going to stay with me for good. Amazing.
Gina
Loved this, loved it. Thank you , Peter.
And it has bees.
Bees!
I loved this. I'm not ashamed to say it made me cry.
This poem gets more complex the more I read it. Wonderful.
And "aunt Ezgi" -- I've never heard that name before, but it's perfect!
Stunning, Peter.
I will post at Cancer Lifeline,
Esther
Thanks all for the comments. The poem is still a bit raw, but close I think.
Peter, Alberto asked me to pass this message along. He's calling for poetry submissions for a blog called Little Emerson.
"'Little Emerson' is on the air. I kindly request—and isn't my tone
proper?—that you take a look at it. It is absolutely demented. Aside
from that I kindly (again) request that you do the meme thing: that
you, should you care to, send a message to three people that may be
interested in this sort of crazy thing, so they can send it to another
three people who may be interested in this sort of thing, and so
forth. I know I'm coming short; this isn't about your favourite ice
cream flavour, but what the hell. I know I'm being redundant, but I am that insecure. Give it a whirl. Participate. See what comes out of it. Nothing will be just as well.
Thanks.
Alberto Romero Bermo"
The address is
www.little-emerson.blogspot.com
And now I have fulfilled my end of it. You are number three. Pass it along.
(p.s. God I love this poem--I come back to visit it)
Gina
Hi Woody: Thx. Please feel free, and say hi to Rebecca W. for me; I am so bummed I missed having dinner with you and her and friends at AWP. I loved her reading.
Gina: thx for the message from Alberto (of Sea Camel fame??)
Yup, Sea-Camel no less. Looks like a very interesting experiment.
Wow, Peter. Just... wow.
Oh, Peter, what an incredible poem. God, I wish I could show this to my uncle who died of stomach cancer. What a lovely dream, feeding the cancer instead of having it feed on you. Delvering it like a baby and being delivered from it.
I'm so glad I came here today.
What a helluva poem.
Delvering? Damn, I think I just created a new word. (grin)
Er, that would be delivering...
Thanks Ivy, Laurel.
Sorry to hear about your uncle Laurel. "Delvering!" What a great new word. I LOVE it.
That's beautifully conceived and beautifully wrought.
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