Tag: caregiving
ANNOUNCEMENT! “Cancer Courts My Mother” by LindaAnn LoSchiavo is Now Available
Defying expectations, a caregiver’s journey is told as a story of adultery.
In "Cancer Courts My Mother" by LindaAnn LoSchiavo, disease becomes a Casanova.
Book Awards:
Winner of . . . .
Award nomination: The Brew Awards, nominee, The Chrysalis BREW Project
Award nomination: CLMP’s Firecracker Award
In "Cancer Courts My Mother," a daughter becomes caregiver to her
abusive, soul-scorching mother, discovering that tending to the dying can unexpectedly
heal the living. In this intimate drama, cancer plays Casanova—a relentless suitor
determined to steal a mother from her family.
Essence: Defying expectations, a caregiver’s journey is told as a story of adultery.
In "Cancer Courts My Mother" by LindaAnn LoSchiavo, disease becomes a
Casanova.
Death ends a life but memories hang on.
Haiku Summary:
Cancer’s intrusions
cannot prevent lifelong wounds
from healing
Advanced Acclaim:
When an adult child becomes caretaker for a parent with cancer, family dynamics shift
profoundly. In “Cancer Courts My Mother,” LindaAnn LoSchiavo captures this complex
journey through poetry that balances tenderness with brutal honesty. She navigates
caregiving’s challenges with grace, inviting readers to witness the delicate interplay of
love and fear while portraying her mother as a fully realized, complex human being. The
journey isn’t pretty—sometimes the words are fierce—but this collection digs deep into
universal experiences of loss and care.
― Kellie Scott Reed, Poetry Editor, Roi Fainéant(USA)
In “Cancer Courts My Mother,” LindaAnn LoSchiavo chronicles an emotional journey
through varied poetic forms. She weaves a metaphor of nurturing plants back to life
while her mother finds remission, then faces cancer’s return. The collection reconciles
memories of a difficult mother with the current, vulnerable one—”Bad memories are
cadavers that refuse burial.” As both subject and narrator, LoSchiavo illuminates the
delicate balance between personal autonomy and familial duty.
― Karen Cline-Tardiff, poet and Editor-in-Chief of Gnashing Teeth Publishing
(USA)
Real and harried, purposeful and comprehensive, when understanding is sought and
reason is not always kind, “Cancer Courts My Mother” provides readers with great
measures of meaning.
― Matt Potter, Editor-in-Chief of Pure Slush Publishing (Australia) and
author of “Hamburgers and Berliners”
Remembering Remission Christmas
They’d bickered over her like two suitors:
Vitality, her birthright, who had known
My mother well before her married life,
And Cancer, who’d mapped out his own terrain,
Unravelled secret strands of resistance,
Until oncologists chased him away.
Remission Christmas reunited us,
Our joy like steam escaping after frost.
I shipped my gifts to Florida ahead:
Biscotti, pignola cookies, torrone
From Little Italy, fine leather goods,
And for her green thumb, a red amaryllis.
But Safety Harbor’s Gulf of Mexico,
Producing Christmastime’s Cancerian
Heat in December, had confused this bulb.
Amidst the presents and nativity,
Its empty cradle strewn with straw, green life
Ripped up gay mummy wrapping, and tore loose,
Unhampered by its ground like Lazarus
Unbound. My parents, unprepared for ghosts
Of miracles, became unnerved by sounds
Newborn right by their crèche, the fir tree’s base,
Invisible and inexplicable
Like faith. Or like remission. After Mass,
They found a determined amaryllis, force
Which sleeps but cannot die, that mother took to heart.
LindaAnn LoSchiavo
While you are waiting for your copy to arrive, enjoy this interview with the lovely LindaAnn LoSchiavo
Peter Mladinic’s Book Review of “Cancer Courts My Mother” by LindaAnn LoSchiavo
Home Remedies: a review of Cancer Courts My Mother by LindaAnn LoSchiavo. Prolific Pulse Press. Raleigh, NC. November 2025
It would be hard to find a person whose life, directly or indirectly, has not been touched by cancer. Just as cancer takes many forms, people’s mental, emotional, and physical responses vary. LindaAnn LoSchiavo’s response is this book. Out of ugliness, the frightful fact cancer kills, she has wrought beauty, this sequence of poems. A reader’s appreciation of them may be heightened by taking a look at their metaphorical resonance and their distinction between honesty and artifice; and, ultimately, by considering the voice of the poet, a daughter speaking about her parents.
The book’s title Cancer Courts My Mother suggests an extended metaphor. The tenor, cancer, is a suitor. A suitor is defined as a man who courts a woman. Although the title suggests otherwise, the woman the suitor courts is the daughter, the poet. In “Arrival” she says, “I know he’s made himself at home, the dark prince …conveying her into his sunless realm.” Yes, death is conveying the mother but it’s daughter who knows. And she is the one being courted, the one who hears the dark prince’s seductive whispers, the one for whom “terminal illness / twirls out of the speech of men.” At the end of “Tick Tick” she says, “Cancer, biding his time, taunts me.” In “Early Visit from the Grim Reaper,” “His baritone commanded me to GO!” In the “Bartering with Cancer,” the octave begins with “When medicine has nothing more to give / There’s only daughters and morphine…” And in the turn, the second half, she says, “I’m stunned.” In “Jaundice,” she says, “my mother wound up with him —Cancer —,” but in the realm of life, cancer courts the daughter, the maker of these poems.
They are interesting for their distinction between fact and fiction, honesty and artifice. Interesting, compelling, haunting. “Diagnosis” begins the sequence. Its abrupt enjambments signal an urgency that inclines the speaker towards artifice.
Transformation’s required, starting with your voice,
Hemorrhaging with euphemisms, lies. You could
Be an actor fed fake dialogue, words almost
A well-rehearsed performance. You could be-
Come an acrobat, clutching the girders of hope. A
Safety net’s missing. The laughter is a ghost’s.
The abiding artifice is the poems.
Even imagination threatened to betray
me, failing to make good on the fancies I’d hope to invent.
But pen and paper became the dependable parents I’d
always longed for. With them, I sketched realities I could
eventually escape to.
That passage is the conclusion of “Mother Magnified,” which is an honest account of the friction between the speaker and her mother, one aspect of this mother and daughter relationship. Yet another realm of reality, that not only counters the artifice “an actor fed fake dialogue” but also the wooing of “the dark prince” is the life of plants. In “Green Nursemaid” the daughter tends her mother’s plants, “suturing new healthiness into the exhausted potting mixture.” While other flourishes of artifice appear in the forms of mythic “mermaids” and the “prayer candles” of religious ritual, the plants symbolize continual life, and, in “Living through the Dying,” which begins with the imperative “Resuscitate the wilted,” their tenacity and the poet’s.
To consider the voice in the poems is to consider the speaker, a poet facing the grim reality that many of her reading audience have faced or will face: cancer kills. The poet’s mother’s suffering is terminal; then there’s her father’s suffering and her own. Her voice, what is said, and how, reflects the human heart in conflict with itself. Signs that say Fuck Cancer are brandished by people who hate the thing that is killing their love ones. I love, I hate —they suggest, conveying that conflict. The poet’s “realities” she “could escape to” suggests her speaking, and putting pen to paper is cathartic. She is also defiant. In “Early Visit …” the reaper says, “GO! She says “No!”
Cancer Courts My Mother consists of poems in free verse and in tradition forms. While its rhymes resolve, there is no closure; the poet’s turmoil remains. Cancer took her mother. A mother’s suffering and eventual absence, left a daughter and a spouse/ father to grieve. The poet’s grief is poignantly conveyed throughout this sequence. Towards the end she says, “When my mother died, she took home along with her.”
Order “Cancer Courts My Mother”
Peter Mladinic was born and raised in New Jersey. He graduated from the University of Minnesota in 1973 and earned an MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Arkansas in 1985. Professor emeritus at New Mexico Junior College, where he was a member of the English faculty for thirty years. During that time, he was a board member of the Lea County Museum and president of the Lea County Humane Society. He is the author of several poetry collections.
If These Walls Could Talk
If These Walls Could Talk
If these walls could talk
they’d tell mom’s stories
of her younger years
and the adventures of
family and friends
throughout our lives
They’d tell of wonders
how that first date would go
while sister curled my hair
and put makeup on
my 12 year old face
while I perspired in her dress
They’d offer witness of each brother
who came home on military leave
to celebrate accomplishments
and share family life
and visits to old buddies
They’d tell of phone calls
from far away, from old friends
who never forgot relationships
were more important than things
These walls would tell of tears
laughter, hugs, kisses goodnight
and all the life held in between
these floral papers, these quiet walls
if only, they could talk
Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld (c)
Memories of happy times in our lives are such blessings. I wish there had been a record of all the stories my mother alone would tell. As I am working on recording these, to the best of my memory, tears come and my heart warms. Later in his life, I recorded stories of daddy and his telling of his World War II service. I treasure that tape and the document created.
As I was working on Caring for Souls, what helped me is to look at old photographs of growing up. This has brought up so many memories that I am continuing to work in this process for another book.
Sometimes, we end up being the one who has been involved with caring for others or having others care for us. Mom did not care for having to be cared for, but it happened just the same. It was the love that was shared between and outside the walls that built these kind of relationships.
Are you caring for someone now? Please share in the comments. I want to hear about it, if you are comfortable.
May all your walls be covered with memories via photos, art, and more.
Call for Submissions
Prolific Pulse Press LLC is conducting a call for submissions. Details are as follows:
Prolific Pulse Press LLC needs 3 essays and 3 poems about what it is like to be a caregiver of a family member or close friend who has become ill.
We also needs 3 essays and 3 poems about what it is like to be given care by a family member or close friend.
All entries must be speaking from their own firsthand experiences.
Essays should be no longer than 5000 words. Poems should not be longer than 600 words.
Previously published essays and/or poems will be accepted for consideration with the exception of already being published in anthologies or other books.
The 12 winning essays and poems will receive an award of $20 each.
All entries must be in 12 point Times New Roman or Book Antiqua font.
Send entries as attachments to your email.
Deadline: March 31, 2022
A 50 word Bio will be needed with the entries, not after the fact.
What will happen to these?
These are to go into a book by Lisa Tomey and it will be published in August 2022
Releases will be requested for the essay and poem writers to enable publication.
No royalties will be paid, but your names and bios will be included in the book.
There will be an optional open mic for this book event for which any winning entries will be invited to attend and read.
Send entries to prolificpulse@gmail.com
Put Caregiver in the subject line
Questions? email prolificpulse@gmail.com
Prolific Pulse Blog 