From The Runiad – Book 14

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… I have been afflicted by a growth. It has taken root

In my face, just above my right eye, exactly where my forehead

Would make contact with my partner’s in a dance.

At first I thought it a mere cyst, i.e. part of me.

I applied all sorts of treatments, Nivea, bee-venom, patches.

Later I grasped that the blip was born of a seed and I was the soil

In which it had chosen to grow. Soon the size of a bush, it has gone on

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Enlarging. All attempts to hack it out have proved in vain.

At the same time, there is some diminishment of me.

It seems to gain in stature from what nourishment I may provide.

I was its equal for a while, when it emerged from being a sapling

And attained the status of a tree, small at first, admittedly.

But not so small today, now that it has crushed me underneath

Itself, and developed roots that go beyond me.

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I am just a blemish though, an irritating spot of life

Attached near the base of this giant of the forest; tiny sore

That would annoy it, were it sentient, but of course it’s not.

It’s purely vegetable. Glories in aerial roots and tendrils,

Sprouting leaves that multiply exponentially, darkening the earth

Around me. Me, the tiniest of zits now. Miracle

That I retain awareness of myself and what I have become.

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What have I become? Now the cyst has turned into a tree,

I am merely mistletoe, something parasitical. Will the tree’s irritation

Cause it to apply a salve to me? Will it try to scrub me off its root,

As if I were some equivalent of what a verruca would be

For a tree? I am the sign that something is wrong with it.

Remedies must be found, applied. Something is eating the tree,

And I’m the indicator of its malady. I have to be.

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Anthony Howell, for Dr Bashir THE RUNIAD – an epic poem – https://heyzine.com/flip-book/1dff8a7467.html

I sent this to the excellent doctor who has just removed the thing.