How to Become Your Own Super Shero
By Glenis Redmond
Facing death
I know that there is more to life
than what we all can see.
In the ethers
I hold onto invisible threads
of what Mama and Grandma passed down:
golden and silver cords of hope, courage, and faith.
With Multiple Myeloma
I have lost more than
the 20-year-old brown locks
that hung down my back.
I have lost my hand and heart
extended for 27 years
taking poetry to students
across the country
across the world.
I lost the music in my smooth stroll.
I have not danced for ten months.
I lost my breath––
the capacity of my lungs
punished by pneumonia twice.
I lost my hair,
my bald head gets looks: outright stares.
People cannot hide their questions
or hide the horror
scrawled on their faces.
My self-portrait is a Frida Kahlo-esque painting.
My illness turns me inside out
paints both the seen and unseen.
I am surreal.
I am lesions on skull, clavicle and femur.
I am cracked bone and marrow siphoned
I am weekly blood draws.
I have had to hold my own hand
to save my own life––
2.5 million stem cells needed
I summoned 12.5 million, a record.
Don’t believe them when they say,
“This procedure will not hurt.”
I am High Dose Chemotherapy.
If the cure for cancer does not kill me, I’ll heal
the shadows on my face
are maps of where I have walked,
landings without light.
53 days later, I am lighter,
a shapeshifter on this path
I did not choose.
Yet, between the veils
I morph into this dreamlike mist.
I feel like both an angel/ancestor already.
Time is surreal.
I am glad to escape death this go-'round,
but I saw the Grim Reaper twice––
his scythe ready to level me.
I have come through this cancerous fire,
finished in the kiln at the highest heat,
a hard-won beauty lit from within.
I duck and dodge
Summon strength as:
Warrior Woman, a Black Southern Sage.
I meet the looks I get with a direct gaze.
Stare translated: If cancer couldn’t kill me, you sho can’t.