Bah! to cancer » poetry

Morning haiku

Stephanie — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 08:41:13 +0000

Lavender clouds on

wedgewood sky make me

anything but blue.

Cancer Free Friday: Silhouette

Stephanie — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 07:20:50 +0000

Today, I am feeling brave, so here’s a poem of mine. (Much scarier than discussing my breasts in public. Weird, but true.) If you like it you could also try this, and this.

Silhouette

Silhouette is a word that I wouldn’t be surprised to find in a poem.

It might share a verse with elemental, or hinterland.

Or it might snuggle up to something more archaic. Begotten, perhaps, or kith.

Silhouette belongs with words that sing in ribbons from the tongue,

breathe themselves from pages,

make lights.

Yes, silhouette is a poet’s word.

But I think I’ll use it anyway.

Next time I walk by branches cold against the sky

or my beloved passes in front of the sun,

I will make a poem of my life.

SB 2011

Impact

Stephanie — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 07:32:21 +0000

As you know if you’ve been around for a while, publishing my poetry makes me a bit nervous. But as, right now, my little book is out in the world and I have no control whatsoever over who picks it up and reads it and what they think of it, I am so busy having kittens about that that the thought of showing you another poem is manageable. I hope you like it. (If you do, take a look here.)

Impact

A woodpecker wallops into the window.

We jump, and dash outside.

On the bench below the pane, its body twitches.

Blood pulses bright.

In the time it takes for us to look at each other and ask what we should do,

the bird is dead.

Sadly, we admire its colours, useless now.

What a shame, we add as we turn away.

We look toward the damson tree that, reflected, made for this swift slaughter.

On the glass, a wing outlined in its own dust,

an image made of shock,

feather-perfect.

The Answer

Stephanie — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 06:28:24 +0000

I am nervous about this post, which is probably why I’ve waited until I’m on holiday to publish it.

I’ve written a poem. I don’t know why publishing poetry feels more exposing than writing about every aspect of my dance with breast cancer, but it does.

Anyway, here goes. I hope you like it.

The Answer

‘So, why are you moving?’ has replaced, ‘So, how are you?’

(head on one side, meaningful eye contact)

as the question I am asked more than any other.

The answer is not simple:

Because cancer made me ache every mile from here to my mother.

Because dancing with cancer shines an unforgiving light everywhere and London, like my scarred and puckering breast, does not look good in an unforgiving light.

Because what matters now is near me wherever I am.

Because there the beaches are empty and the sky is unlimited and I newly crave salt air.

The answer is to be standing naked from the waist up and asking to be understood.

So I have found another answer, also true:

‘Because it’s time.’

‘Why do you think you have breast cancer?’

‘Because it’s time.’

The words were there before they had told me what they were going to be.

They frolicked between us, surprising.

The room was bare and bright. A dull print of a possible rose on the wall; clean curtains; real chairs.

Only the box of tissues, shadow of the freshly diagnosed, said that this was counselling.

We watched the words a while.

I still don’t understand them. I still think they are true.