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Every Square Inch
Her every square inch, her breath, and her voice,
In all this and more my soul can rejoice.
The beat from her heart, the wink from her eye,
The times she is bold, and then she is shy.
The cute upturned nose, and the curve of her ears,
The smile she gives and sometimes her tears,
The touch of her hand, the smell of her hair,
And I really love her shape like a pear.
Even an eyelash, what a loss it would be,
Never, no never—that’d be painful to see.
I can’t believe in a day without her.
I can’t conceive of her gone in a blur.
And yet, and yet, there’s a day it’s now true,
The doctor reports what’s happened to you.
Will you tell us, Doctor, what can we do?
Please not that word you know is taboo.
Her every square inch is precious you see,
You must not let cancer take her from me.
There is still an answer, not yet too late.
Remove it now, this must be her fate.
For her dear life she fought and paid a steep price.
In surgery that was rolling the dice.
The deal she made was to give up some more.
Removing the bad but keeping her core.
She asked of me, “Will you love me still now?
I am missing a bit I once was endowed.
Though I can walk free of cancer’s cruel claims,
A piece of my body no longer remains.”
Yes, I love her, and I am not deprived,
For each and every bit that survived.
This beautiful woman, she lives for me still.
Of course I love her, and I always will.
Her every square inch, her breath, and her voice,
In all this and more my soul can rejoice.
The beat from her heart, the wink from her eye,
The times she is bold, and then she is shy.
.
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Frank Rable is a poet living in Pennsylvania.
A wonderful poem that draws us in expecting more praise for your beloved only to be surprised when the descriptive turns to a drama. Ending back at the same place with love proclaimed over every square inch despite the change is a wonderful testament to the healing power of love.
Thank you for your kind comments. I hadn’t thought about it starting out as a love poem of praise. I wanted to show things that were treasured. It was simply to show what was, and then would be again, regardless of a tragedy. A person must know, must be shown, that they are not reduced in the eyes of their lover. There is no “She can’t do this, she doesn’t have that.” There is only “Oh my God, I could have lost her.”
What a heartwarming poem of love and loyalty exhibited in your beautiful verses that seem to flow from experience. When the mind overcomes the observable, it stems from a well of love that never shall run dry.
Roy, even your comments are poetic! And you got me brother, that was from the heart. Now try this. You remember Ricardo Montalban. (“Welcome to Fantasy Island” “rich Corinthian leather” “from hell’s heart I stab at thee!”) Imagine that he is reading the poem aloud. The emotions are mine of course,but I thought about his voice when I chose my words.
I would have liked to have shown this poem to my father when his second wife was sick with cancer, Frank. It’s very moving and affirming.
Thanks for the read.
That is very kind of you, Paul. There are so many emotions at play in this kind of situation, one after another, or all at once. I was fortunate in that the primary emotions were fear, relief, acceptance, and hope. And we know it doesn’t always go that well. What then? The old saw that God was a little selfish and brought her back early? That you were blessed to know her that short time? Sometimes people don’t know what to say, yet say it anyway. So Paul, if you were there for your father, that was the best thing.
Frank, you’ve told a beautiful story here, outlining emotion as a couple goes through some frightening, inescapable circumstances. Long ago in English graduate studies, some of us were discussing what words are “unspeakable” at the present time. We excluded technical words of which most persons are ignorant, but decided that very little else could NOT be mentioned in conversation. It might not be a polite conversation that mentioned all the filth and blasphemy occasionally heard, but anyone who wants to say such things will do so. “Cancer,” as you point out, is the taboo of our day and age. One is more likely to hear, “she is very ill,” or “he has medical issues.” You catch this, and immediately bring up the rhyme word, “answer.” You even repeat the taboo word, and express strength of love and purpose, by repeating the first stanza as the last. A scary tale well structured and bravely told!
Thank you, Margaret, for your analysis of a poem that has personal meaning to me. There was a time not that long when people would not say “cancer” out loud. They might whisper the word, or refer to it as the “Big C”. There was a certain amount of superstition over an incurable and fatal disease. Much has been done since then, particularly in early detection. For breast cancer for example, there has been the mammogram, but now MRI’s and Ultrasounds can be done, particularly where the mammogram is inconclusive or family history indicates a more thorough testing.
In addition, surgeons are now able to get good results sometimes with quite minimal tissue removal.
My poem was intended to show a husband’s continued love and concern regardless of a diagnosis. Perhaps it harked back to an earlier time rather than the present day, There is much reason for hope now, and nobody should avoid regular testing out of fear or superstition.
Thanks for this poem. Love can sometimes rise over illness or other misfortune, and you said so in a skilful way.
Thank you, David. Any physician will tell you that support from loved ones is part of the healing process. I think it can never be said enough.
I don’t despise the sentiments, but overall, as a coherent poem: yech! Did you ever give any thought to metricality? I see little evidence to support this notion. Sorry, Frank, but I must be frank.
My my! You’re not holding back, are you. Tell me what you really think.
Yikes! (Since you are using “yech”) This was going pretty well up until now, you know. And I took you seriously until you said, “Sorry, Frank, but I must be frank.”
Of all the names I might have had, it had to be the one that could also serve as an adjective. What if my name were Shlomo or Santino? What would you do with them? Not much I think. What if my name were Hugh? Would you say, “Sorry, Hugh, but I must be you.” That might be a little funny, at least.
Now as to coherent, as in “united as or forming a whole”, I believe that I related a coherent story, If you found some difficulty in following it, well, try reading it again and perhaps it will pop out at you this time.
Finally, “any thought to metricality?” Well, of course not! What do you want, a poem? Aaaarrghh!