Growth
by Benjamin Sutton

I.

As a child my enemy was serenity
and medication was a poor man’s answer—
my answer was to be found in textbooks
Italian statues of emasculated marble
the perfect posture of half-men—

etch a Venn-diagram of social
mediocrity, covet the
60th percentile, my Father once said.

An F on the refrigerator brought
conversations with my father
dawdling knee rubs
an explanation that it
was never too early to
realize that life was
suffering, although
this realization
has not helped.

My father taped applications
for minimum wage on

the side of my bed,
said that I could make a career
out of my problems
get tenure in mistakes.

 
My shaking knees idled; posture straightened
my father switched gears to reverse
lost his job and role in the family.
Mom picked up eight more hours
slept on the couch
ordered the pizza.

It was America’s obsession with cancer

The coughing, the baldhead

And four months later

My Father was restricted

To white sheets and

Sponge baths.

 

II.

 

There was quiet serenity

In the room, the puzzle piece mosaics

Framed on the wall, a bust of

A generous donor

That stared in my direction,

Unenthusiastically, as I sat with

A novel that I quit reading

When I became lost in the symbolism

Of love, or inevitability.

 

The protagonist asserts that deep

Enough into this life comes a moment

When growth is acknowledged

As only a reminder of

An earlier memory—

When last year’s success

Is this year’s depression cycle.

 

And under the tapping steps from

The nurses walking above,

I drink yesterday’s coffee,

Sip at tomorrow’s ambiguity.

 

My father mumbles, and

I remember the story of

His first kiss

Falling on the white snow, white teeth

Smiling above snow angels taking

Their first breath

The stoicism

Of the Mid-west.

 

And I wonder, as the reciprocator

Does the work, whether these

Industrial breaths

Are the same

As those angels in the snow,

If they both lead

To the same

Destination, the long car ride

Home in the dark, disappearing

Down a small-town road.

 

BENJAMIN SUTTON is a graduate student studying for his MFA. His poetry has been published in numerous journals, and his first chapbook of poetry, Atom-Bomb Sunrise, was published in fall 2008 by JK Publishing. He is currently in Columbus, Ohio, for the holidays, and spends his free time swearing about the temperature.

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