by Charlie Altersitz
If we pretend long enough,
Maybe it’ll just go away
Maybe we can wake up tomorrow morning
And laugh without the awkward tension
Maybe our jokes won’t come off the tongue
With nervous apprehension
Does it hurt to laugh?
Maybe I won’t say anything at all.
Spirit and Body
by Anita F. Bott
My body wants to sleep all day,
all night, and sometimes more.
My spirit sometimes goes along
and vibrates to the snore.
Knitting in the Chemo Room
by Felicia Mitchell
On my lap, purple yarn and plastic tubes:
a tangled web of medicine,
the cord for my headphones,
knitting as necessary as Herceptin,
Taxotere, carboplatin, sodium chloride.
by Meg Osborne
At church a man says, “You must wake
up every morning
and just PINCH yourself!”
Well, I want to pinch HIM or at least clip his head with my purse.
Letter to My Former Self
by Joanne Doyle
To the pre-cancer dreamer of life.
How I envy your naïveté.
Untouched by a dreaded disease,
Death always far into the future.
by Ali Zidel Meyers
I ramble through word dust,
fall apart and fall together.
The letters are brittle twigs.
Ode to Hair
by Karen Sudduth
I’ve worn a wig, I’ve worn a hat,
But now I am all done with that.
My hair’s still short, just like a boy,
But going topless is a joy!
That’s the Way It Was
by John Ward
One morning in the Springtime,
just shortly after eight
The news was on, the coffee hot,
and work would have to wait.