Here's a poem that I wrote about cancer for some cancer anthology. I didn't get in but I'd thought I'd share this poem all the same. I hope you like it.
Like Cthulhu, the cancer sleeps and dreams.
It dreams about many
things, but mostly about coming back.
It’s itching to,
been meaning to.
But it’s decided to
wait and lay dormant among the other cells.
Sleeping quietly, but
ready to wake up and
return when the thought
of cancer is stronger in the host’s head.
Cancer knows that it’s
at its mightiest when its host is most afraid.
Right now, its host
isn’t afraid at all.
It’s too soon. He got
over cancer two years ago.
He went through Chemo and
had his right testicle removed.
No matter, as what’s a testicle
to cancer?
It wanted the whole
body next time, not just a single nut.
Now, the host has one
ball, which he feels regularly in the shower each morning.
His woman checks him,
too.
She feels his sack, and
he feels her breasts for lumps as they lay in bed together.
His fingers circle her
pink areolas.
“I won’t let it come
back,” she always told him as she looked into his eyes and
caressed him down
there.
“It won’t come back,”
he reassured her, not realizing that it wasn’t up to him.
Just like getting it
the first time wasn’t up to him. It was in his family history.
A great-aunt had it in
her skin, his grandpa in his colon.
Cancer, in that way,
was distant and yet, so close. So near.
On a good night, the
cancer dreamt about journeying to the host’s pancreas.
Do him in in the worst
possible way.
There’s no beating
cancer in the panc.
And some other nights,
it dreamt about traveling to the host’s brain.
Treatment could make the
host slanted and erratic.
Make him say things
that he would never say if he didn’t have cancer.
It could also put him
in a hospice.
There, he could marvel at
the way sunlight hit the windows in the next building over.
The sunlight he won’t
see in a few week’s time if the cancer sticks its landing.
But for now, the cancer
will bide its time in dreams.
It’ll have to,
because again, the host
is not afraid.
Not yet, anyway, while
he still has his woman, his hope, and his bumper sticker.
So the cancer will have
to wait
And wait.
And dream.
But as everyone knows, nothing
alive ever stays asleep forever.
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