August 18: New Poem, Not Much Time

I  don't have too much time to type this post.  I've spent a few hours working on today's poem.  I don't know how good it is.  It's inspired by my daughter going to visit my uncle who is dying of lymphoma.  I hope that my daughter learns something about healing on this trip.

I've been thinking about healing a lot in the last few days.  What it takes to make a situation better.  Sometimes, all it takes is an order of fries from McDonald's.  Sometimes it's a little harder, however.  That's what today's poem is about.

Saint Marty needs a little healing right now.  He may stop and get some Chicken McNuggets on the way home.

How to Heal

My uncle learned how to heal
When he broke his neck
In a car wreck, spent months
With a metal halo bolted
To his forehead, the screws
Sunk in his skull so long
He felt like Boris Karloff, waited
For Dr. Frankenstein to appear,
Jolt him with a tongue of lightning
To heal his damaged vertebrae.
He worked with his hands,
Relearned how to make a fist,
Hold a fork of meatloaf,
Lift it to his mouth.  He gripped
His wife's arm as he swayed
Down hospital corridors,
Moored himself to her, the way
Sailboats moored on the St. Clair River
Against wind and currents, the drift
Toward some distant northern place.
He never let her go.  She pulled him
Home, retaught his fingers how to love
Her, like van Gogh's brushes loved
Canvas, thick with sunflower and stars.
He healed her.  She healed him.
This time, my uncle came home
From the hospital with a tumor
The size of a two-by-four in his belly.
His wife sits next to his bed now
As his grip on the dock loosens.
He knows this healing will be simpler.
No therapy.  No exercises.  No terror
Of deep water or undertows.  His job is easy.
Relax.  Open his fingers.  Let go.