While writng yesterday's blog post about radiation therapy i was inspired to commit to poetry all of the emotional stuff, the surreal stuff, that accompanied my treatment. For me, this is a happy poem, albeit with some recorded fears evident in it. But one way to counter the fears is to write through them, transform them through language. See what you think. 

As a side note I admit to beginning my wriitng life as a would-be poet. My first publication was "Sans Merci" (pretentious French, yes, but back then I was just learning) in the Shepherd College literary journal, and I used to participate in "original poetry" competitions as a forensics team member. Fact is I love poetry. I always have. Returning to it now is a joy and distinct pleasure. 

***

I lie shirtless and alone with dreams of descending angels

As this beautiful TrueBeam radiation machine

Completes its perfect 360-degree circle.

I pray its silent violet light on my inked and targeted tattoos

Eradicates the tumor.

In Cancerland the end-of-time is always just over there,

Over there, can’t you yet see it?

I’m afraid I can.

It’s where all the old ambiguities and arguments about ultimate things

Fail us,

And we finally give up the will to fight.

Right there,

Where a new profound darkness greets an older eternal light.

TrueBeam gets turned on from another room,

I think of targeted drone strikes against the Taliban.

Video screens like TrueBeam in Gilbert

Display the same ominous crosshairs for veteran joystick gamers

In Omaha.

The nuclear blast flap opens just above my chest

And a violet light punctures my skin,

burrows straight into the bone,

And then -

I don’t feel a thing.

No stab. No heat. No burning.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

I imagine a miniature mushroom cloud

Rising from my chest

Angels are fast descending.

But they don’t arrive.

I open my eyes one at a time.

I see a smile.

The therapist says: “Your treatment is over.”

Listen: Those of us living with terminal cancer

Live without easy answers,

But so do you.

So what should we do?

Maybe only this, only this:

As we share the same sacred breath of life,

Know each day is sweet as a bride’s wedding kiss.

My damned disease, your cherished ennui,

Nothing so mundane matters anymore, not really.

Live each day crazy in love and loving your life,

Until that profound darkness greets an older eternal light.

--H. L. (Bud) Goodall, Jr.

6/8/2012