Hello old friends. I haven’t posted here in a really long time, because I’ve found it really difficult to write this past 9 months, as it’s been a time of recovery for me (you may remember that last Summer, I was completely insane). Because I have found it difficult to write, I am keeping up with Napowrimo again. This is my FOURTH year of participating so I’m going to really try this year.
This one doesn’t have a title, but it’s sort of taken from the prompt and it’s sort of personal to me but at the same time you may notice some sly references to old poems by famous writers. The poem is about killing, essentially. The killing of traditions, relationships, friendships, disease, and things that can kill you.
“You are afraid of everyone. Your nickname is hermitcrab.
Come out of your shell, they say”
from Starfish by Leah Horlick.
and then they gave me your hand
to hold my hand because it wasn’t
wearing a latex glove and I needed
the skin, even if it was your skin
familiar, I thought, but was foreign,
clammy. The nurses come and go
and only you mention Michaelangelo
because you haven’t noticed the date
or remembered to move on. I remind
you, it’s 2014, and some of us have
moved on. “Yes” you said. “And now
it’s my turn”.
Outside in the hospital gardens we spot
anaemic daffodils; not golden, nor a
host, I remind you, we are moving on.
I feel the bastard child of cancer kicking.
I tell you I want to kill all of the doctors
and become a Greek god. The surgeons
have my tissue and I’m coming down
from ether; what did I once say? When
I saw you, with a robe pressed up against
your face thinking I hadn’t seen? I do
not have to kill you, Daddy, for when I was
deep under, I knew such wistful pictures.