Sunday, September 2, 2012

bright eyes ...



bright eyes  ...

  for my daughter who beat the odds and for all the children who didn't get to go home 
in the cancer ward
they dance like
elves and fairies
sprinkled with magic 
some wearing 
a cotton cap
with the hospital logo on the side
others not so self-conscious
who come racing by
with a strand of hair
carving a jet stream through the antiseptic air
like a flag flying
high above the ramparts
signalling in the rocket's red glare
i am still present
i am still here

in this pyjama world
no one is crying
or even sighing in despair
and certainly
no one is praying
or pleading to escape
that one door out
that exit to eternity
that swings open every day
because for now 
theirs is the kingdom
the power and the glory
to dance and sing
and laugh outrageously when 
the scrubs i wear
fall a little to starboard
and reveal a serious crack
that tarnishes my dignity
but polishes their cheeks
and noses 
with bright colour
as they roll and tumble 
over beds on wheels 
and moon one another
in a parody 
of my shattered dignity 
only looking back to be sure
that i am smiling too

in the corners of the ward
their mothers or their fathers
and rarely both
sit with steel faces
and eyes of anguish
eyes that sparkle
only on cue
and then drift away again
and why not
they have  been summoned
as witnesses to 
an execution
almost as if this place
steams with a stench from
the hallways of Auschwitz
and so they count time
instead of living 
in time

Magritte of the Leukaemia League
whispers in my ear
and asks if i have a lover
i turn to look into her 
practised bedroom eyes
nodding my head as i smile uncomfortably
and she is emboldened 
by my response
and wonders aloud if 
i make love every night
stunned 
i hesitate
and in that split second of eternity
her eyes ignite and 
she squeals away 
in a convulsion 
of absolute pleasure 
collapsing in her breathlessness
into the arms of David
of Team Teratoma 
and she cups her hand over her mouth
in the event that i might be a lip reader
and murmurs in his ear something
that giddies him into delirium

and i laugh knowing what he knows
until finally he finds his young hip
his rock 'n' roll cool
and walks over to me
stumbling over puppy footsteps
but wearing the smirk of a man
four times his age
until at last he hugs my knee
and speaks to me 
in a voice of whispers
"I hope you have a nice baby
a strong baby 
with living blood
and no tumours
and many 
many T cells
so I can come by 
to dance with her at her wedding
when I am well"


Copyright © Kennedy James, 2011. All rights reserved.

2 comments:

  1. there is a fairytale...Alice in Wonderland like quality to this serious subject that made me smile

    happy smiles for your daughter and for you

    ReplyDelete
  2. I will always think of this poem as your signature piece. It is beautifully written, and it's impossible to not get emotional when reading it.

    ReplyDelete





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