Jul/Aug 2017 Poetry Special Feature |
New Self-Portrait
A gallery of cancer patients are on display:
The Young Girl Waiting Patiently.
The Lonely Man Who Never Quit Smoking.
The Worried Mother Seated with Son.And now I am one of them.
I labeled them and now they can label me.
Is this how Dorian Gray felt peeking at his portrait?
What happens if I rip my own to ribbons?They take a marker to my canvas where the radiation
begins the uniform acceleration of my free fall.I can’t move during treatment,
even though in my head
flying frenzied sirens are singing to my fears.I must be like Ulysses tied to the post of my own ship.