How the Worst Day of My Life Became the Best by Andrea Gibson
- marychristinedelea
- 1 day ago
- 3 min read
How the Worst Day of My Life Became the Best
by Andrea Gibson
When I realized the storm
was inevitable, I made it
my medicine.
Took two snowflakes
on the tongue in the morning,
two snowflakes on the tongue
by noon.
There were no side effects.
Only sound effects. Reverb
added to my lifespan,
an echo that asked—
What part of your life’s record is skipping?
What wound is on repeat?
Have you done everything you can
to break out of that groove?
By nighttime, I was intimate
with the difference
between tying my laces
and tuning the string section
of my shoes, made a symphony of walking
away from everything that did not
want my life to sing.
Felt a love for myself so consistent
metronomes tried to copyright my heartbeat.
Finally understood I am the conductor
of my own life, and will be even after I die.
I, like the trees, will decide what I become:
Porch swing? Church pew?
An envelope that must be licked to be closed?
Kinky choice, but I didn’t close.
I opened and opened
until I could imagine that the pain
was the sensation of my spirit
not breaking,
that my mind was a parachute
that could always open
in time,
that I could wear my heart
on my sleeve and never grow
out of that shirt.
That every falling leaf is a tiny kite
with a string too small to see, held
by the part of me in charge
of making beauty
out of grief.
The poet Andrea Gibson died from ovarian cancer on July 14 of this year. Like much of their poetry, today's posted poem focuses on Gibson's reaction to this diagnosis; unlike other cancers, the long-term survival rate for overian cancer sufferers is low. This is in part due to the fact that it does not have overt early-stage symptoms. And, as with many cancers, the younger you are when you are diagnosed, the worse the outcome. Gibson was only 49.
The metaphors in this poem are very powerful. From the beginning, the speaker flip-flops the medical issue they are discussing with a storm, making the storm the disease.
There is even humor: taking two snowflakes like pills, the kinky choice of an envelope. And questions--we love questions in poetry here on this blog.
The poem also contains some great examples of word play. Side effects and sound effects is my favorite, but there are a lot of sounds to love here, too: the "s" sounds in stanzas 4 and 5, the "c" sounds in stanzas 6 and 7, and the repetition of "opened," which comes at a pivotal point in the poem.
I opened and opened
until I could imagine that the pain
was the sensation of my spirit
not breaking,
I have read this many times and this stanza still punches me in the gut. Anyone who has had intense physical pain that is constant or almost constant will understand the how powerful this is. The speaker is turning this thing that is killing them into a strength. It is also a declaration: I will NOT let this disease break my spirit.
The next two stanzas continue this treatise with two more metaphors, both playing with recognizable tropes.
The last stanza is another gut-punch, starting with its beautiful opening image.
every falling leaf is a tiny kite
with a string too small to see
Then the speaker returns to that earlier declaration. They are going to make "beauty out of grief." This is so much to ask of oneself for anyone at any time. And yet we have our proof that Gibson succeeded, because we just read this beautiful poem they wrote.
Andrea Gibson was the poet Laureate of Colorado in 2023. You can find more poems by them at the Academy of American Poets--again, many of the poems deal with their response to their cancer diagnosis and turning this painful news into hope.
Learn more about ovarian cancer at The Cleveland Clinic.
Learn more about Gibson and their passing by clicking on these links:
Andrea Gibson poems at The Academy of American Poets.