Chicago
to Minnesota
by
Donald Nelson
On
the elevated Quincy platform
I
caught the Orange Line to Midway,
my
flight delayed
and
alone at the food court
I
had hours watching other travelers
while
reading and emailing.
There's
no comforting eye contact here today
probably
the look on my face,
haggard
from the Lupron
that's
castrating my testosterone.
If
I'm lucky, I'll survive cancer like a friend
who's
been through it before me,
he
tells me it's not the same
but
he can still make love.
In
Minnesota, behind thick concrete walls,
the
high energy hydrogen protons
spin
around magnets in the synchrotron.
After
six months of hormone suppression
and
eight weeks of the high energy particles
aimed
at my shrunken prostate
at
nearly the speed of light,
I
lie to myself, wishing someday,
that
I could be whole again
or
still make that profound human connection,
the
male and female magic, that gave us all
our
chance to be here together.
From
Donald Nelson: “I'm poet in residence in my basement office.
Transitioning from a life in visual art to writing about ideas and
experiences distilled in words and phrases that interest me.”