February 10, 2025Severe Atypia
I know you feel like an old, sad dog, the doctor says,
But I think you’re still worth saving.
I’m on my stomach, shirtless,
It’s bright and cold outside, snowing again.
His brow is furrowed in the medical
Light as he makes the first incision to remove
A one-by-one-inch patch of skin between my shoulder blades
That frames a precancerous spot,
Severe atypia, he calls it, a small death storm that
Threatens to rot my core.
I mean you’re no waxed apple, he says,
But you’ll still make someone a decent pie.
At least we caught it early,
You still have so many groceries to lug in the house,
A young daughter with a hole in her sock,
Waiting for your permission to
Just throw it away.
You have assignments to finish,
Dreams to discern,
Just think of all the sauces and dips you haven’t tried,
The smell of grass on your dog’s feet.
Just because you can’t get the sound of
Someone’s last breath out of your mind
Doesn’t mean it’s your turn.
You still have time.
Time to ask Alexa if it’s raining outside,
Time to take it all back.
Now, to be safe, we will send this new sample to the lab for analysis
Where they will watch your mistakes multiply and
Mutate under a microscope,
All the times you’ve felt small,
All the times you’ve been burned,
Fooled by the gray Ohio sky.
But, no worries,
We’re gonna get you fixed up,
Back in the game,
I’m starting the sutures now,
Two layers, one on top to hold together
What’s left of your middle-aged skin,
One below to keep the fear
From reaching the surface.
You may feel some tugging.
What’s that?
It feels like someone’s buttoning your dress too tight?
Yes, it might feel strange to
Bend over and breathe, but
Do what you can.
Understand that this changes things for you now,
Get yourself a good mineral sunblock,
Buy a nice hat,
Stay in the shade,
And don’t let the sun see you smile.
Only come out when the puddles
Threaten to swallow the cars.
The incision might itch or feel numb,
You might feel the weather change
When you say something wrong,
So keep it dry and covered,
To seal the dread out,
Especially in the shower.
Keep it clean and let it breathe,
Hold it together, enough to muddle through the day,
Enough to spread the peanut butter
On the bread as you stare out the window.
But know that this won’t kill you,
Not now at least.
It will be some other slow hell,
Like your blood sugar sneaking up on you one night
As you gaze into the light of a vending machine.
What does the rest of your day look like?
You’re making biscuits? I love a good biscuit!
With grape jelly.
It has to be grape.
Well, nice to meet you.
We will see you in a few weeks to get the sutures out.
My assistants will be in soon to get you cleaned up,
Pop your tires on, and get you back on the track.
You’ll speed off and slam into something else in no time.
Perhaps a bleacher filled with onlookers
Eating hotdogs in the sun as
Their abnormal cells divide.
from #86 – Poetry Prize