This is part of my daughter, Micah’s, alphabiography assignment.  It was so good I asked her if I could share it.

My mom was diagnosed with cancer over  Spring Break on the first Friday off.  This is related to cancer because to find a broken bone, you have to use something like an x-ray to see inside the body. And, I would have made any letter cancer-related because I need to talk about it, though there isn’t much to say, other than cancer has probably given me some gray hairs and a few cry-full nights.

Dear Cancer,

  I fudging hate you. You hurt my mom and made me want to cry at school. You kill kids and adults and anyone in between, even though I know you can’t hurt my mom, because 1, you aren’t strong enough in her body. 2, she could beat you any day, and even though you are going to leave a scar on her body, she’ll only remember the good things about that scar, like that she was healed. On the topic of crying at school, I really wanted to. I wanted to let everyone know what was happening, but even though I felt really sad, the tears that released that sadness just wouldn’t come. I wish they had. I can tell that my eyes might show the sadness I feel in them, making me look like a homeless dog sometimes. And the worst thing is, you’re just a sickness. Not someone I could write to, or take out all my anger on.

    I cried last night, when i was lying in bed. I’ve done that before, and the only thing my mom can do is comfort me. I know that I might be making her upset too, but I can’t help it. That word, you, cancer, is a baggage-filled word. it consists of sadness and helplessness and hopelessness.

    I know that God will help my family with this, especially my mom, but if you could just bug off, I would be so much happier. And cancer, it’s not my mom’s fault that she’s sick; it’s yours. And I have people looking out for me and my mom, so you can’t take us down.

May it be Your will, Lord our God, God of our ancestors, to send perfect healing, of body and of soul, to Miriam, along with all others who are stricken.  (p. 113)

My Richard is a closet poet.  He has several poems that are published.  He will never toot his own horn or share his own work with friends.  So I, with much pride, will do it for him.  Here is his latest poem written as his 44th birthday approaches next week.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY POEM

—on my 44th birthday  by Richard Shaffer

Here is my breath.  Here.

Breath Marks the spot.

And here are my clumsy hands.

And this is the body my childhood died inside of.

My latest incarnation.

the many Mes inside this body argue from their rooms

My body now a hostel for thieves and homeless men

Dying of boredom is the longest dying:

A most inefficient suicide

The most common form of death in my country.

What would the toucan say?

Oh to be the bees

There was no parade.  Or I’d missed it.

I’d like to come back as a tree.

My wife and one two three four children hold the corners of my heart.  Place it down let’s dance and lie on it.

Some days feel like getting on the wrong train

continually missing my stop

The small part of me worried

there may be no more stops at all just motion.

I am alone.

Somebody blow out the candles.

Wildly and in spite of everything though

Including my best efforts to defeat it

the canary in the coal mine of my heart

Keeps coming back alive.

I Introduce to you my heartbeat.

This year, Father, keep me

Busily un stapling my own feet from the floor

So I might dance myself into a next new thing.

I give to me my heartbeat.