Poetry News From All Over
It’s been seven months since I’ve posted. I apologize for ignoring the importance of poetry, the value of visibility, and the connection between MS and expression. Reasons abound, as they always do, for my absence. I could say, ‘my extreme disability,’ but that’s not exactly right, or I could use the ‘been really busy’ route, which is true, but still…. I should not allow these things to be responsible for my silence.
My husband, my caregiver, (those with multiple sclerosis know how invaluable that person is who cares for one with debilitating MS), is dealing with his own frustrating disease. Amyloidosis is not well known and yet similar to MS in that it is hard to diagnose, has a wide range of symptoms, and can be nasty in its effects. We have super doctors, a home health aid, physical therapist, a loving family, and cool neighbors and friends to help us through rough spots when my husband is not able to take care of me
We knew the daunting nature of our relationship with one spouse who is disabled and one who is not. Now we’re finding out how much more difficult it is to have a marriage where both partners have health problems. A developed sense of humor is necessary! We’re finding the seesaw challenge of balancing home, family, our art (my husband is an artist), and the mundane chores that must be completed—doctor’s appointments, medicine schedules, and things such as … laundry!—quite disconcerting. We are handling all this and honoring our creative energies; we know the importance of nurturing creativity in both of us—but sometimes our health difficulties are impediments to doing so. To meld our talents, Steve and I are working on a chapbook of my poetry and his art, which should be completed next year (2017). I’m also finished a new book (Beauty, You Drive a Hard Bargain) for which Steve is doing the cover art. It’ll be published by Kelsay Press of CA and is due out in a few weeks.
Below is the poem (“Wind-Blown”) from the new book that in a way demonstrates positives in inspite of the illness we deal with.
In our new yard on the hill under the low-
branched dogwood tree, we nestle on a spread
of white—gleaming blossoms loose and cool
as a May morning, our new house behind us.
Scattered petals rise with gusts like excited
balloons looking to escape their owners.
We admire gossiping crows and their
soldier-like, burnished wings.
Today we will not wake in the old house,
narrow and tall. Under sky’s canopy, habits
unmoor, stilted rituals dissipate. There will
always be street lamp’s glimmer as we turn
toward home, always music quivering the air,
always a yard full of wind-blown blossoms.
© Marie Kane, 2017