Measure

• Only half a man
• used a ruler to show the tumor 
• back at half again, in this case, your chance of living
• 1 opaque streak vanishing from the transparency
• because you didn't want any measure of pity 
• 3 opaque streaks growing back into the transparency 
• 2 bites, 2 sparrows
• 1 branch
• a single pine cone falling

Measure is a beautiful poem. Following the insane measurement that takes place in the middle of tragedy. How we analyze every morsel of experience when it feels as if there is not enough. Enough left, enough to go around, we count and everything is the last and the greatest, it is what everything will be measured against. The numbers theme counts out the days after a diagnosis, one that makes his uncle half a man, 50% is where we begin. A ruler that measures a tumor also is measuring the rest of some one's life, it tells us the size of the bomb that is living under his uncle's skin. Transparencies and opaque play a beautiful part in showing the duality of life and death something transcendent that dies. Repeatedly Dempster uses the image to tell us about the tumor, opaque streaks vanish and then grow back three times worse... this is reflected on a transparency, it is clear... it is cancer.

What his uncle watches out side his window while eating his last bites of a tuna fish sandwich are 2 sparrows on 1 branch and a single pine cone falling. This nature scene brings a lot to my attention, I think of Adam and Eve (beginning stories, there are two and then a fall...) I think about  the full circle the young man who is writing about his uncle has lead us on. In the way of numbers something visually  may not seem natural, yet in ways it leads us to the most natural of things and that's measurement... how long, how much... Even when a pine cone falls to the floor it still has purpose: The condition of fallen pine cones is a crude indication of the forest floor's moisture content, which is an important indication of wildfire risk. Closed cones indicate damp conditions while open cones indicate the forest floor is dry.

This poem is all about measurement the size of a tumor, and the size of one's life effecting another. The size of a battle and the size of the will power of the person on the front line. The size of hope and the size of a life line. This poems begins and ends i think at the same place, with half a man, whether in the beginning we are talking about his uncle and in the end we are talking about the nephew, or another scenario the poem is always counting and in the end is still doing that, or observing that relationship. Its embodiment of things natural circular and infinite contrasts creatively with counting, measuring and finite. 

My favorite part (and this may be a very important part being it's the only time the title is reflected) is:
Our 1 hour tennis match, the score 6-3 because you didn't want any measure of pity
This is what's not allowed to be measured or observed by either person in the poem, no pity.
LLesenia