Tag Archives: cancer

Today is October 9, 2014. I am alive and well.

This poem was inspired by my aunt who is battling cancer right now and doing a good job of it.

One Last Croissant

My partner is missing from her desk that is joined to mine in a flourish of redwood. She is having chemo. The slow poison to catch cancer leaves her tired like a sprinter done with a mile, or a mother with twin babies. Her eyes are hard like peppermint candy, determined to toss this illness like she would a silk blanket.

Stacks of movie magazines tousle the floor. I am left to plank the distance between us as one does when walking the edge of a boat, wanting to catch the next raft with a whistle.

Beer is a buck a glass at the local brewery and for a minute I forget I don’t drink any longer.

I held her hair in my hands. Two pig tails and I teared. She threw a cap on and called it a day. Later I would catch her in the mirror, sullen, still, the breath of her paisley.

The coffee came to a grind. I finished the last croissant with plum jelly. My shoes slouched when I tried to walk away. All  I see today is dismissed light. Let tomorrow bring a flock of birds asking bread.