Cancer

My mother has cancer

She told me yesterday

Now it’s a waiting game

But somehow

The word, “game”

Does not fit

With the words

In this poem

Or

The thoughts racing

Through my mind!

For

The nurse is getting ready

To push needles

Into my mother’s veins 

The surgeon

Is gathering his tools

To cut on the body

That once gave me life

That held me for 9 months

Felt me kick inside it!

Then comes

The weeks of

Radiation waves

Burns and blisters

My mother’s skin tissue

Will look like it was dipped

In nuclear run off

From Chernobyl

Or Fukushima

She will feel like

A thousand ants are

Crawling and biting

Under her skin

And

A thousand Bees

Stinging its surface!

Whatever the future

Might be?

My mother

Will suffer

And

There is nothing

I can do to stop it!

Helpless

I feel as I wait

As she waits

As we all wait

Not knowing

What will come?

Yet

At the same time

Knowing with all certainty

What eventually will!

None of this is an easy place

To be!

Not for her

Not for me

But

Sometimes the tools

You need

Tool survive the hard times  

Are right in front of you

You just have to look!

Three weeks before my mother

Was diagnosed

I ordered

Susan Sontag’s Masterpiece

“Illness As Metaphor”

The book arrived two days

After

My mother told me

She was ill 

The irony in this

Was not lost on me

For

My mother

Was living

With death living off her

She was the host

It was the unwelcome guest

She never knew was there!

Weeks earlier

One night

Flipping through channels

I came across

A documentary on Susan Sontag

Her own battle with cancer

And

The book she wrote about

This horrible disease

I was taken by Sontag’s fight

Her will

To beat impossible odds

So

I ordered her book

Not knowing at the time

It was a tool

Sent by the Gods

By angels

By the Stars

By the universe 

Words to give me guidance

Words to hold onto

While holding my mother

And

Facing each day

I have

With her!

Seeing each moment

As precious moments

That undoubtedly

One day will end

But for now to

Cherish these

Blocks of time

That are given to me! 

For

We only have so many days

In this world

And

We have even less

With the ones

Who’ve brought us into it!

From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Held In Their Pockets

“Express to our world what is alive inside us not what their world says we should be… Our true selves should never be created by others, Held in their pockets like belongings, like trinkets.”

Jason E. Hodges, The Drop Off

Missing People By Brandon S. Graham

Brandon S. Graham’s new novel “Missing People” is the classic punch in the gut Grit-Lit storytelling I’ve grown to love from him over the last few years. He does not disappoint with this nail-biting tale of colorful characters making their way in the world.

To me the book reads much like a movie playing out in front of you on the big screen. This is the telltale sign of a great writer. Someone who has spent day in and day out with each character-pouring everything they have into each one to make their book alive and believable.

“Missing People” is a book I highly recommend. Graham is at the top of his game. My prediction is this book is going to sell many copies and most likely make it to the big screen. It’s that good. So, pick up your copy today!

Book Description from Amazon: “Six years after the traumatic disappearance of Etta Messenger, it's clear that none of the members of her middle-class family have finished mourning. Gaping emotional wounds have been poorly addressed. Etta's mother, Meg, anxious to find closure and make what she can of the rest of her life, has organized a memorial service to mark the painful anniversary. Newton, Etta's erstwhile high school sweetheart, a disabled Afghanistan veteran with anger issues, uses the impending anniversary as a convenient excuse to spin out of control. Charlie, Etta's earnest blue-collar father, takes stock of his life and is reminded how he failed to protect his daughter. Her younger brother, Townes, who was the last of them to see Etta and is convinced his emotional outburst drove his sister away, has his fragile hermetic cocoon threatened by the heightened emotions of the day.

On the day of the memorial, a snowstorm threatens the city, and a chance observation on a commuter train entangles Townes in a dangerous situation that recall the events surrounding Etta's loss. The characters are shaken from their mournful routines by an unrelenting chain of events, including Newton's arrest, Townes' dangerous heroics, Charlie's recognition of his own shortcomings, and Meg's shocking discovery. The action moves from the seemingly serene suburbs to the heart of a dangerous Chicago neighborhood.

Will this ensemble of damaged characters pull themselves together in time, or will new stresses rip their tattered lives to shreds...”

Hand In Hand

“I’d rather fall climbing a mountain hand in hand with someone I felt was my equal than to make it to the top by stepping on them.” Jason E. Hodges, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Never Be An Artist

“Never be an artist that starts worshiping yourself or believe your little group is better than anyone outside of it. For, you are nothing more than a grain of sand on a hillside in this world of ours. Even Da Vinci’s work is only glanced at then scrolled past on a phone or computer these days. Climb down off your throne and become humble once more.”

Jason E. Hodges, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave