P.E.T. Scan of The World
The following is a poem by my adored friend Mary MacMillan who is a super talented person, an artist and a poet. It really hits the nail…
PET Scan of the World
The massive machine dwarfs the orb
stilled by the pill to relax, rolled onto
the sheet-swathed slab.
The buzz, hum begins as the bruised
sphere yields to pixilation, and hot spots
scream on the imaging screen.
I see the open wounds wrought by Palestine,
Israel, the cremated remains
of the plane shot down
in Ukraine as Russia encroaches, a blood-stained
grab, while Sunnis, Shiites, radical sects
tear at the febrile, ill-built Iraq, tribes
torture Afghanistan, babies
bleed out in hunger-scorched Africa,
pure white bears cling to frail bergs
as the ocean opens its plastic-choked maws
to inhale the pristine shores, dunes,
and dirt-germed, thirsty children
trudge through our borderless lines
of demarcation to protestations of who
belongs in this once sacred
nation, and the prisons are engorged
with men of color, and guns blast
through the hearts of innocence.
I study the magnetic, scattered splotches,
hear only the words; chaos, metastatic,
see the scabby, oozing globe emerge,
wobble onto its scarred axis, hobble
through the hall, trip, fall,
gasp for breath.
Macro wasting into micro.
Just like us.
Terminal.
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Gloria. Circa 1955.
Gloria. Circa 2012.
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