Spring 2017

Edited by Andrea Spofford | Barry Kitterman | Amy Wright



​Poetry

Intervention Letterthought to Fredrick Banting, Heavy Drinker

Rachel Morgan


The other side of causality is blame. The lake effect cold is early pushing its season, and there’s the 2 a.m. epiphany that confirms everyone’s own suspected genius. The sour gut waking with determination, that knows little of its inheritance, the cocoon thin children on stretchers wheeled like prams, hungry for even a bird’s seed. The other side of blame is not causality. Banting, your actions have hurt no one and someone in the following ways: of a rented room in Ontario (single bed, $1 patent for insulin, floral funeral parlor carpet), of the first months in the lab (bloody apron, spectacles, heat wave); who’s counting how many more if it’s only the next one? There’s a black book full of ideas for experiments. When patient and doctor are equally starving, there’s one treatment option. There’s a room full of comas for parents to mourn. Son of man, can these bones live? Son of man, these bones can live! Son of bone, these men, live. Son, whose bones my bones made live, can live.




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