Monday, April 8, 2019
The Interim (A Poem)
He is laughing at something on TV. My breath
scrapes over my teeth, back into a diseased body. Tears
slide in havoc, no tool to reverse them, remote
rewind. Before this year, we didn't know I had cancer.
Months until we find out if I still do. A horror
movie villain downed with a shovel. Will
there be a sequel to this, a round two? Fights wear
on a person. Depression has followed him this year, ate
away the light in his eyes. The light I give, I take
like a goddess in a sadistic carnival. Misery
unmeasured, delights on display. "I'm sorry."
I ache to say to his damage. I caused this unhappiness.
"It's not you," he says, like we're breaking up.
Close to the breakdown. When he laughs in joy,
I cry because it's a rare sound.
I wrote this in 2017 after radiation therapy was completed. I try not to write too many poems about cancer (I think I've written four in total) because someone has probably said everything better than I can.