A Diagnostic Procedure Was Performed

by Rafael Campo

I have a cancer in my arm.  I write

So I can see it better – on the page –

The words traversing the malignant stage

Of countless, hungry cells as they divide

Until I’m drained of something horrible.

It’s not the cancer, but the thoughts I fear.

I recognize it came from me.  I hear

The pitter-patter of the pseudopods,

I hear my parents whispering. (My arm

Is like a microphone.)  The center of

My face, it seems a place I never loved –

I have a cancer.  Growing fast as germs.

It looks so harmless when it’s poetry.

It looks so delicate, this shaking pen,

This cursive script I learned when I was ten –

The cancer in my arm is killing me.