Still a roughish draft…

April 26, 2007

After the cancer returns

She is exquisite.
Her cheekbones more prominent
than before,
soft hair grown back
and curling at her neck’s nape,
her eyes clear and blue
as any April sky.

Before we knew, before
even she knew,
her steps seemed ordinary.

But now she floats
a few inches above the sidewalk,
held up by strands
of gossamer thread,
as if she resides already
behind sheer draperies,
a little gauzy and apart.

A warrior’s ferocity
will map across her face
as she fights against and for
a day, an hour, a minute.
There can be no losing
this time she will say,
no day to be wasted

without the feel
of freshly cut grass,
damp between her toes,
or brownies warm and gooey,
or her son’s dirty hand
flung carelessly across her chest
on late Saturday morning.

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4 Responses to “Still a roughish draft…”

  1. AndyWhitman said

    That’s wonderful, Beth. And very sad, of course. This is the wonder of art; that something as ugly as cancer could be turned into beauty.

  2. bethkoruna said

    Thanks for the encouragement, guys. Poetry doesn’t feel like my language as much as it did several years ago. But I’m trying to change that.

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