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Cancer
March 23, 2015
The kitchen light starts to flicker.
I stare out the window screen and realize
I best be putting on my galoshes
Or the surgeon will think I swam the Nile.
I should probably leave Harlem now.
I can’t read a road map to save my life;
I guess I will be taking the LIRR.
I stop at the bakery to grab a cronut.
On the train a manifesto of my corpse
Plays in my head like a parrot
Mimicking the info on a floppy-disk.
I can feel the scalpel slice into the leather
Of my should-be-burnt, radiated skin.
No one holds my hand as I go under.
© Olivia E., Alto, MI
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Once again this is a ghost sonnet and the theme my class chose for this particular poem was isolation, which is why it is a bit darker than my other sonnets I have posted. I am very pleased with this poem and I hope you all enjoy it.