The Dancer

A poem about a woman ( my mother ) dying of small-cell lung cancer.

 

1.

Beautiful cancer

Moving softly

Like a dancer through your blood,

To pirouette through lung and brain

And your bones

And your bones

And your bones

Are all that will remain.

 

It eats you.

It burns you.

Teaches you from the inside

Breeding immortal

Karmic

Judicial

Tumour.

 

Who could hear it grow inside of you?

 

Immune to herblore and medication,

Chemicals and radiation,

To grant you the time for consideration

Of your life till now

And all that made you a shadow.

 

2.

I caught a cursed glance of you naked

And there was nothing there.

Your ribs protruded like the chrome venting on a machine

With no purpose, no design, for the human body

As the flesh hangs dull

Especially capped by your mottled skull.

You have no need for that expression of vacancy

So close to attaining the most untellable secrets.

Use these moments wisely…hold them close to you

With the passion and vigour of a youth forgotten;

Be wondrous

As you approach. Grow wise.

 

3.

I try to talk to you

But you do not listen.

Listen:

             Do you hear it,

 

A subtle bullet moving softly through your blood?

Do you hear it?

No.

You can only fear it, as you feared life,

As you feared being a mother and a wife,

As you feared being a somebody for anybody else.

Three children,

Eight grand-children; one more to come,

Arriving any day now. And mine

Ezekiel, whom you will never meet;

That opportunity you wasted with your ignorance.

All the generations to come and what will you impart to them?

Knowledge of lunacy,

Knowledge of hysterical alcoholism,

And the faded hopes of small-cell lung cancer.

Faded hopes……? You never had

Hopes. You had gin, a cheating husband,

A misplaced life, and a disappointment

In your children before they were forming

(especially your son, remember

you confessed to attempted abortion

with a bottle of spirit and a boiling bath).

What will you have at the end?

No grand-children of yours will come.

No relative or sibling will grace your presence.

Your daughters will not come

Till the casket be your bed. Your husband will neither

Kiss nor hold nor have the strength to guide you

Through to finality.

But I will be there

Colder than death itself

I will close your eyes

Tenderly, I may kiss your forehead

And I will read to you.

Reviews

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

enthralled by the subtle yet savage pain ~ the matter of fact bleeding in words~ I have never seen an illness of body and illness of charachter drawn so expertly as you have done here~ this is an exquisite rendering ~ absolutely and completely engaging~

[Crinkle°]

All my congratulations for your price with this poem! an amazing piece. x

[Crinkle°]

This one is very moving, and like a dagger in full heart. xxx

[April Child]

Tough subject, you have captured it well. It is agonising to see what this disease does to people. Sad and touching piece.

[.]

I think this is quite sad, but yet it grabbed my attention. This is very well written.

[Ed Hart]

this is a courageous exposition, and two years old...so you have gone on from here...what an incredible piece of hell

[Ani Ashford]

Incredibly written... I have worked with cancer patients, watched friends and family die. Your description creates such a lyrical quality, almost like hearing the music of the slow motion dance. Then you tug the hook of emotion. Hooked, surprised perhaps, wiggling with the pain of recognition, the pain of disappointment, and the bitter taste of the possibilities that can never be. Beautiful.

[Travis Lawrence]

This may be the saddest poem I have ever read, sans the last five lines, and I am serious when I say that. It's aboslutely horrifying, "and your bones / and your bones / and your bones" chilled mine to frost. Not a drop of your emotion is lost in this piece. Words really can't say how much I admire it. Wonderful!

Have a nice day!

[Vatsayayana]

I am awash with feelings.
Truly stunning. Your words are moving.
The very beginning cut straight into my heart, bringing the blood roaring to the surface.
My Father had cancer.
The memories you have just ripped from me, taken from me. I'm shaking.
Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

[J.P.O.et]

I am..................speechless
pain, you had to see her out and yet you were also remembering
all the times she left you out
with her 'lunacy' and 'gin'
'A misplaced life, and a disappointment in your children before they were forming
[especially your son, remember you confessed to attempted abortion]'
she was your mother yet those are such words to say, spirits are no excuse, I cry for you
'I caught a cursed glance of you naked And there was nothing there.'
a simple line yet very powerfull
You are a strong man Mkl.
Keep up the good fight
J.P.O.et