During our July Creative Meetup, we were introduced to the theme “Honoring Your Body” by our facilitator, Jennifer Crystal. Jennifer provided two poems by different poets as a way to stimulate the creativity of our group of writers-with-chronic-illness.
Our first stimulus poem was “Primary Care” by Dr. Rafael Campo that graphically addresses the body of the ill person, not only the symmetrical perfection but also the smell and blood. He also exclaims, “beneath your fragile skin, I see the soul that you shield”. He acknowledges that “you, body, weep, you think, you scar as if to show us our own history”. The poem is included in Rafael’s sixth collection of poems, Alternative Medicine, that reveals his deep understanding of the relationships amongst “language, empathy and healing”.
Our second stimulus poem was by Lucille Clifton, former Poet Laurette for Maryland. The poem, “Homage to My Hips”, focused on a single body part, the hips. In the poem Lucille expresses gratitude for her femininity and respect for her “body parts”. She describes her body with pride and humour. In a discussion of “What Poetry Is”, Lucille suggested that “poetry is a way of living in the world”. “ a way of trying to express something that is very difficult to express” and “a way of trying to come to peace with the world”. In her view, poetry comes from questions, not answers, and a sense of wonder about the world, ourselves and those around us.
Writing Prompts provided during the Creative Meetup
Jennifer provided the following writing prompts on the theme of the Meetup, “Honoring Your Body”:
- Write a piece of prose or a poem beginning with, “Oh, body…”
- Write a poem or a piece of prose about one part of your body.
I chose to respond to the first prompt and decided to write a poem titled, “A Letter to My Body”. The poem reflects the emotional ups and downs that I experience as a result of having the chronic condition, Mass Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS). The condition means that I have to severely limit what I eat and drink, otherwise I suffer from hives, rash, swelling of the legs and ankles, arthritic pain, indigestion and headaches.
Despite this condition, I am able to do many things, including think and write, read and play sport. I feel endlessly grateful for what I can do and savour my residual capabilities. I will be 80 years old in three weeks’ time and I value my overall good health.
A Letter to My Body
Oh Body – you test me at times,
react to the smallest thing,
create pain, itch and scars.
What are you protesting?
Where did this reactivity come from?
Why now in later life?
Pleasures from food and drink
turned to irritation and frustration.
You have served me well,
provided joy, pleasure and contentment.
Your agility and resilience amaze me,
even now, a source of astonishment.
I value that I can still walk and run,
the many times that you have been competent,
your flexibility and keenness to learn and adapt.
enabling me to play five racquet sports and two football codes.
Physical discomfort is partly in my control,
I choose to eat what I enjoy,
there are consequence that I know,
you have been forgiving of my abuse.
I’m grateful for my genetic inheritance,
a gift that keeps on giving.
Despite my ups and downs,
you stand by me – a constant companion.
Every day I see people whose bodies will not let them walk unaided,
whose movement is restricted or uncontrolled.
Some have to rely on others for their mobility,
always dependent on someone else for basic tasks.
I’ve taken my independence for granted,
not tethered to others to move around,
doing many things with ease,
the recipient of competency’s benefits.
You’ve stuck by me through thick and thin,
through the aftermath of a serious car accident,
through melanomas and skin cancers,
through the daily MCAS assaults and arthritic pain.
You’ve kept me mobile and mentally alert,
physically capable beyond my years,
despite my lack of respect for you,
my abuse of your good intentions.
There is grief here,
about the foods I cannot eat,
the drinks I cannot drink,
the meals I cannot share.
You have sweated and swelled to protect me from perceived invaders.
I appreciate your diligence in caring for me.
in helping me to maintain my immunity,
in providing the good health to enable my physical pursuits.
You enable me to enjoy my mobility when travelling interstate,
to achieve my 3,500 steps daily,
to play recreational pickleball weekly at intermediate level,
to do my regular exercise routine that keeps me agile, strong and resilient.
I’m surprised by your sense and sensibility.
Your intelligence is not just in my brain,
but also in my gut and heart.
You rein in my unfettered emotions with deep breathing.
I marvel at your body memory,
your capacity to play racquet shots instinctively,
without any conscious intervention,
reading the play and responding intuitively.
I have savoured your competence,
bringing me endless joy in the “now” and in “replay”.
I feel challenged to show you more respect,
to curtail what I eat and drink that is harmful to me.
Oh body, you are like a tree firmly rooted in the ground.
swaying with the winds of change.
inexorably displaying my life history,
in the texture of your bark and the shedding of your leaves.
You are my grounding,
my earthly residence,
my link to nature and others,
my sole comfort in times of darkness.
Reflection
In writing the poem, “A Letter to My Body”, I was very conscious of what I had discussed in an earlier post when I wrote about poetry “blending opposites and breaking frames”. I wrote the first five stanzas during our Meetup writing exercise. As I reflected further and processed my mixed emotions around the Meetup theme, I became more conscious of the need to blend opposite emotions and achieve a breaking of my “victim” frame. In the poem, I was able to bring together sadness and joy, grief and gratitude, disdain and respect, frustration and elation, disorientation and groundedness. The poem helped me to change my inner landscape from “victim” to privileged.
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Image by wal_172619 from Pixabay
By Ron Passfield – Copyright (Creative Commons license, Attribution–Non Commercial–No Derivatives)
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