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For Mikey and Naneen As usual, Anne was correct. Not all ghosts are adults. No. There is Michael. He of the same name as the Main Angel. His angel – God, were there more? If there were, they ALL failed. You failed. If not, it was the one in charge of him. You failed – He was a sweet, oh so tender boy, far from home, far from ever. All five year old boys with cancer are. they who emit the scent of mushrooms, the odor of bacon, the signs of rocks and worms and broken trucks. they don’t wear matching socks, or any socks at all. Their underpants say “well-worn” and lack the frills the luckier girls get to wear all their lives until they go into the white cotton gramma-wear clinically he had some odd-ball never-before-seen type of lymphoma that not even the well-shorn pathologists of the Hospital of Childhood Horrors could unfold or spell or distinguish from Spam which he enjoyed and which was cheap and which we enjoyed in a sandwich near the end of his stay Which was nearly a long day, but ended at night in a horrible mess on the fifth floor in his little cell we called Mikey’s room Kathleen was his favorite nurse, and she was probably every male and some female resident’s favorite nurse, too, but Kathleen wasn’t Kathleen to Mikey, because he couldn’t say “Kathleen” or because he just liked “Naneen” better, and we laughed every time he said it, as she held his hand as we dug blood out of his soul and sent it down to get the reports we knew without even checking – anemic, no white cells, no platelets: white as a ghost, infected and bleeding. ENT looking into his life through his nose found a black fungus growing within his sinuses and flushed and fumbled and washed and mumbled until one night after about the twentieth washout he just let the ol’ Carotid valve go – wide open and spewing and was gone in a flash that I can still see – it’s burned into the back of my retina, the same one that saw Naneen holding his hand as he said: “Don’t worry Naneen. Be Hoppy.” It rhymes with poppy. "Mama says, Be hoppy - " Not all ghosts are big ghosts. Not all. For me, Anne, not even most. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2004-02-04 09:40:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.77778
Oh my ... words are insufficient. If this one tops "martins" it will be understandable. You work kicks the gut and makes us sit up - inhale - admit that not everything is going to be perfect and joyous. Some children meet horrific fates. One can question the existence of any sort of benevolent God when confronted with this reality. In S3, the bitter comment about the failed angels foreshadows what's to come.
... he just let the ol’
Carotid valve go –
This makes Mikey's departure his own choice. Of course, we know differently, but giving the ghost some control over the circumstances of its passing is a twist on the usual idea. The closing strophe reminds us that the speaker and his partner are pediatric specialists, whose world is populated with these small spirits. There are so many lost boys like the one described in S4. So many ...
I hope you're collecting these poems into a single volume! I know it would find a ready audience. If you could find some talented child artists to add illustrations, even better! This could be a fundraiser for childhood cancers or other medical concerns, as well as a personal testimonial.
You are writing some of the most important poetry on this site, I think. It's raw and real; it deserves to be supported and applauded. There is nobody writing like you do on any poetry site I've visited. Please, keep on keeping on with this. Eventually, a publisher has GOT to find what you're writing and then I can say "I knew him when ..."
Brenda