Two Constraint Poems – Mona Mehas / Art: Robert Frede Kenter

My Left Ear

I developed a problem with my left ear.
My students debated; which one wasn’t clear
I bit my tongue, smiled and told them, ‘Sound travels!’
Always one kid’s sheepish grin turned to a sneer
Egos bloated to an art; they faced their peers.

Summers, I served in restaurants and cashiered
I developed a problem with my left ear
Dizziness, nausea – I could not see straight
Beyond that, I functioned; it was hard to hear
I made change, raked in the tips, laughed, persevered.

Bands in bars were not the same; cried in my beer
People spoke, sounds echoed off walls everywhere
I developed a problem with my left ear
When someone called my name, I circled around
Did me no good when they said, ‘I’m over here.’

I loved Lake Michigan, to find an old pier
Surrounded by sand, in my soul was held dear
Ran with cookies, feeding gulls at water’s edge
I developed a problem with my left ear
In water with waves, dizziness heightened fear.

Students learned sound traveled, I could overhear
I acclimated to my fate through the years
One doctor had said virus, one disagreed
Twenty-five years, my life wrapped around Meniere’s
I developed a problem with my left ear.

A Death Sentence

Angiosarcoma; a death sentence.
Divorced ten years, our heartbroken journey
his diagnosis textured no defense
terminal mistake was made, no pity
coursing through his blood, cancer was full-blown.

A life of secrets his brain now betrayed
Angiosarcoma; a death sentence
he did not comprehend literature
or doctors’ big words, surgery offered
remove the evil, high hopes but no cure.

Apartments nursing homes hospitals stress
isolation in throes of pandemic,
Angiosarcoma; a death sentence.
Fraught with guilt, tried not to build a fence; he
called me day and night, his voice low and thick.

His loneliness relied on others; his
fate wavered between wanting life or death
succumbed to reality, pain intense
Angiosarcoma; a death sentence,
Same man yet different from early days.

One night he called and asked me who I was
his voice crystal, my skin chilled, left unknown
question – why? No answers, sadness, immense
last home, hospice, morphine, he died alone.
Angiosarcoma; a death sentence.

Author’s Note: I love the challenge and freedom of writing within the constraints of form poetry. It feels like writing in a cage with the lock undone. The form in these two poems is entitle, viator poetry, invented by the Canadian scholar Robin Skelton.

Mona Mehas (she, her) writes from the perspective of a retired disabled teacher in Indiana USA. A pushcart nominee, her work has appeared in over 70 journals, anthologies, and online museums. Mona’s chapbooks are forthcoming from LJMcD Communications in 2024: Questions I Didn’t Know I’d Asked in March and Hand-Me-Downs in July.  Two of her poems received first place honors in her state contest in 2023. Tweets @Patienc77732097. Follow everywhere at https://linktr.ee/monaiv or https://monamehas.net.

Banner & Image: Longing, Longing #2 (Suitcase) visual poems by Robert Frede Kenter (c) 2024. Twitter: @frede_kenter, I.G.: icefloe22, r.f.k.vispocityshuffle.