Donation
by Lydia Daffenberg
I wonder what parts they used to
Make Frankenstein people
From pops.
Did they remember to add
His blood, sweat and tears
Or is it something that they forgot?
Did they think about where his organs had been?
They'd traveled thick in the jungle at Nam--
They'd been in love and pissed off and pissed on.
Where had Frankenstein's organ's been?
The one's now dead being replaced again.
What were the stories of those?
Had they even been his?
Did anyone know?
I wonder what part--
His liver?
His heart?
Perhaps pop's eyes to see.
Will I let them take me
And make me into a Frankenstein, too?
I wonder what parts they would use.
posted by Lydia Daffenberg @ 11:04 AM
2 Comments:
I don't mean to fawn, but I have always loved your tempo, your rhyme, your rhythm, your flow, and you always have an aesthetic value to your poetry that I utterly appreciate on that very same artistic level. Once in a while, you make me see from entirely different viewpoints. Frankenstein people. It's funny that I never thought about organ donation in such terms. You have succeeded in opening at least one person's mind to a new viewpoint.
Two more things: "Emotional potency leads to emotionally potent work," and, "write what haunts you." In spite of recent events, you cannot shut yourself down, and in a sick and twisted irony, you pulled off more of what your good at than you have in the last couple months, speaking about both of your most recent posts.
It's what great writers do.
I know organ donation is supposed to be a wonderful gift for someone who needs a healthy organ in order to keep living.... But I have to admit it hurts to think of Larry's body fragmented and sent out piece by piece. There isn't alot of comfort in that concept somehow. And I sense you feel that, too, Lydia. If it's any consolation, I share that discomfort. And you expressed it eloquently. Your Dad would be -- no... IS -- proud of you. Thank you for sharing this piece of your heart, and just know you aren't alone in the sentiment.
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