Saturday, April 30, 2011

And So Another April Goes...


National Poetry Month. My birth month. Spring. 

My favorites things.

We spent this month celebrating. Words. Writers. Donuts.  And for that I thank you and look forward to next month and all it brings. Hopefully, even more donuts.
This Is What A Good Princess Does

I imagine I am Snow White while the consulting room begins to overflow with doctors.

Perched on plastic folding chairs, they’re lined up like seven dumb dwarves all in a row.

I ignore them though, and sit, the naive princess,
watching singing forest animals cavort around my satin-slippered feet.

Let us explain, one dwarf says, oblivious to an invisible squirrel scampering across his loafer. Let us show you, another says, slapping up x-rays on the light box. 
Let’s not, I say. And yet, they do.

Brain lesions. Developmental delay. Abnormal.
My son.

Their words swarm around the room, buzzing around my head, like thirsty, leering insects anxious to draw blood, frightening off my forest friends.

They’ve gone too far now and I think, shoo fly. Though what I actually say is let’s not.

They do, though. 

Doc, the head dwarf apparently, speaks to me in an unintelligible accent when all the while an Ivy League smirk plays upon his lips.  
You must understand, he explains. It’s not so simple. You cannot let’s not.
Ignoring him, I wonder to myself if all dwarves talk this way. How silly he is,
telling me what I can and cannot. I’m Briar Rose, after all.

But then, to my dismay, I suddenly find that I have become the focus of their concern.

Am I okay? Do I understand? Am I listening? they ask.
Sure, I reply. I hear every word. And then it happens.
With horror I watch as Doc’s face begins to meld with those of the other dwarves.
Bashful. Irritable. Donner. Blitzen.

Odd, I wonder, how I can never remember all their names. But then, who could?
It is too much to ask of one princess.
It would help if you would wear name-tags, I say. 

But before they can answer, together they transform before my very eyes into the Wicked Witch. And in her outstretched hand, which she extends toward me, Snow White, lays the diagnosis.

Take it, she says. Take it, it’s yours to have, yours to bite and savor. Here.
This is what a good princess does.

Even though I am Briar Rose, I don’t want to be good at all. But I am many things, and good
is one of them. So, with a reluctant sigh, because I can no longer not,

I wrap my fingers around it. And for once, as I bite into the tender fruit, 
I’m grateful the animals have fled.

-Once a semi-finalist in the William Wisdom-William Faulkner Writing Competition, this poem was just one more way for me to say, "Yes. Angiomas suck." Be it art, writing, or just standing on your front lawn screaming to no one and anyone who will listen, it's important to find your own way to say what you want to say, whatever it is...

Happy End of Poetry Month, everyone.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Oh, hi. Did you have something you wished to say? Yes? Excellent.