photo credit: PhotoDiako/iStock

In Situ

Even before I open my eyes, the light in them
is orange, as red buds give way to masses of pollen
and pale new leaves. The changing foliage makes

a filter for sunlight through the glass: amber,
pale green, then emerald.  This tree and I have traveled
a score of journeys together; four years since my diagnosis.

Each year, the colors are farther from my window.
Another limb has died. This summer, I’ll turn
my attention to the earth. A single yellow blossom

sings to the bumblebee, which attacks;
bee and blossom merge. The flower’s stem bends
under the weight of the bee but springs

up again and sways as the bee straight-lines away
as suddenly as it landed. The crimson leaves of autumn
will desert the chokeberry bush, leaving red fruit behind.

The cardinals have their fill, especially the female
with her bright orange beak and gray plumage that
only hints at redness. In winter, I look to the sky.

Comforters of snow and prisons of frozen rain
encase the woods in brilliant fire.  Orion’s Belt
stands out sharply among the midnight swarms of stars.

Moonlight intensifies the white discoloration of lichen
patches on the bark, the bare branches as unfamiliar
as my own chalk-white skeleton.

About This Poem:

• This poem was first published in Levee Magazine, Fall 2020 – Issue 05.
• It was written in Approaching the Poem, Spring 2014, a class co-taught by Christine Salvatore and Stephen Dunn at Stockton University in Pomona, NJ. I wrote several poems that semester that were eventually published, including “Supplicant.”
• The title, “In Situ,” is a Latin phrase, which means in place, and it’s commonly used in the description of cancer cells when they have not yet spread. Both meanings apply to this poem.
• The poem shows the passage of time, through the four seasons of the year, through years of living in a house, through years after cancer treatment.