Posted tagged ‘cancer poem’

« ManicDDaily home page

“Home”

March 8, 2013

Home

Last visit, her face was swollen, foreshortened by
pink scarf, but her cheekbones (Cherokee, she told me
when we were young) have now reasserted
themselves, her scalp refeathering.

You look so beautiful, I say, words she seems
to pick up, smile flickering,
until she turns again
to trying to sit, though we have
to catch and lift and
her husband
to support her,
which she cannot
bear for long.
I have to get up, she says,
I have to get out of this place.

He tries to stall, talks of brushing her hair
first, and for a moment, she leans
into his fingering
of brief curls, but then, determined, arching away,
I’ve got to get home.

You are home, he tells her,
in your own room, your own bed,
but she pushes now so hard
that we turn her legs, gather her arms, lift and walk
her to a chair, which despite whimpering
urgency, she cannot take, its chintz print
roses on vines.

Did you call the car? Tell him
to come right now?  You know you’ve got
to call it. 

I called it, her husband lies
as he holds her head close to slide down drops.
But I’ve got to go home, she cries, pulling away
from body, pain, still air.
Just stay for a bit, he whispers.

***************************************

I had determined to take a break from writing but I am posting this revised version of an older poem for dVerse Poets Pub “Meeting the Bar” prompt on home, hosted by the wonderful poet Pamela  Sayers (who writes of Mexico) and Victoria C. Slotto.  This is a poem that I have rewritten many times, never really able to get it right.  A different version can be found elsewhere on this blog and in my book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, (by Karin Gustafson, illustrated by Diana Barco). 

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 32 Comments

Second Day Of National Poetry Month – A Pantoum

April 2, 2010

Silver Slipper

Today, tried a pantoum.  The great thing about a pantoum (a form of repeating lines) is that you don’t need to come up with so many new lines.  ( For instructions on the form, check here.)

Remember, this is a draft a day!  A Draft!  (And the point is for you to try too.)

(Please note that in my poetry, pauses come only with punctuation–commas, or periods–and not at line breaks.)

Last Anniversary Party

She walked that night on the side
edges of silver slippers.
Her smile stretched movie-star wide
above sored feet that moved like flippers.

The edges of silver slippers,
gathering, elasticized
around sored feet that moved like flippers
as their slow, held, waltz defined

our gathering; elasticized
the sweet stretched around the bitter
that their slow, held, waltz defined.
We were her husband, her too, who fitted

that sweet, stretched around the bitter,
to make it last, while we each tried
to be her husband, her too, as they fitted
loss with all that sparkled fine

to make it last, while we  each tried
a smile stretched movie-star wide,
at loss, at all that sparkled fine.
She walked that night still on this side.

Categories: poetry, writing exercises
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: Be the first to comment

Sonnet in Winter – Hospital Visit

December 8, 2009

For a change of pace, here’s a sonnet, written about a winter’s visit to a sick friend.

The sonnet follows the Shakespearean rhyme scheme, and though it tries for Iambic Pentameter, I’m not sure that attempt is truly successful.  As noted in previous posts about sonnets and formal poetry, I tend to use a syllabic rule of thumb rather than to follow strict rules of scansion.

For further explanation of the Shakespearean rhyme scheme and some approximation of the rules of meter in formal poetry, check out prior posts re poetic meter, and sonnets, and for reasons to write formal verse .  (And plenty of others – check out poetry category.)

No chance

I wanted to give her time, a summer’s day,
a perfect green blue day that I would pluck
from my summers to come, that I would lay
upon her bed, and, shimmering, tuck
around her.  It should have been an easy offer,
easy to say.  After all, the future
can’t be readily assigned; life’s coffer
holds nothing forfeit.  Tubes followed suture
to a darkness barely gowned; I searched around
my jangling brain for words, but what came out
were stones that lined her pillow, the sound
not meaning my meaning, and not about
summer days; my own fierce will to live
hoarding what I had no power to give.

All rights reserved, Karin Gustafson.

(If interested in different forms of poems–sestinas, pantoums, villanelles, and more villanelles, and even more villanelles–there are a lot of villanelles.   Really.  Check out these links, and others.  Thanks.)

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 13 Comments

“Home”

October 8, 2009

Home

Her cheekbones, Cherokee, she’d told me
when we were younger, have
reasserted themselves.  Last visit
her face was swollen, foreshortened by
pink scarf, but hair has grown
what with the end of the chemo
into small feathery clumps,
and her features, that web of
intent-filled bone, have resurfaced.
You look so beautiful, I say.  Smile
flickers until she turns again to
trying to sit up, though we have
to catch and lift and
her husband
to support her,
which she cannot
bear for long. But
I have to get up, she says,
I have to get out of this place.

He talks of brushing her hair first,
fingering brief curls.  This
brings a nod.  She has been naturally
beautiful her whole life,
but also a beauty who brushed hair first.
But I’ve got to get home, she insists
suddenly, arching away.
You are home, he tells her, in
your own room, your own bed,
but she pushes now so hard
that we have to turn
her legs, gather her arms, lift and walk
her to a chair, its chintz print
roses on vines, then, when she can’t sit,
walk her back.

Did you call the car? Tell him
to come right now?  You’ve got
to call it.
I called it, her husband lies
as he holds her head close to slide down drops.
But I’ve got to go home, she cries, pulling away
from body, pain, still air.
Just stay for a bit, he whispers.

 

***************************************

I originally posted this for National Poetry Day 2009 in the U.K. on a theme of heroes and heroines, but I am relinking to the Trifecta Writing Challenge on the topic of home.  Trifecta has very cool challenges that look to the third meaning of the word – here, “a familial or usual setting: congenial environment, also focus of one’s domestic attention.” 

This poem was published in my book GOING ON SOMEWHERE, (by Karin Gustafson, illustrated by Diana Barco). Also check out l1 Mississippi -counting book for lovers of rivers, light and pachyderms, or Nose Dive, a very fun novel that is perfect for a pool or beachside escape.

 

 

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 8 Comments