There was an echo
within this place
of children
dying and crying
in hospital hallways,
their sobs rang through the rooms
of my head like
a fucking thunder.
Kind calm mamas
wipe her quiet tears
and dads sing her favorite lullabies
as the poor babe
tries to fall back to sleep
with IVs pump
chemicals
all the way up to
her red curls,
which she will also lose
in a weeks time.
I saw nurses
distracting boys
with train toys
while sleep starved parents
get more bad news
and wept in restrooms
so their kids wouldn’t see.
I must confess of doing
this as well
and became friends with the
bathroom stall wall
who wept with me
which I thought was very kind indeed.
I remember Jordan crying out to me in my sleep,
then waking up
in the middle of the night
with a start
and finding a text from him
in the many months after his diagnosis
telling me he was scared
and didn’t feel brave,
so I got up at
5 in the morning
and drove like a witch possessed
to walk and drink coffee with him
in the early morning frosts,
hearing his story,
his processing of death,
thus life too,
and we got sad together,
got angry together,
wept together
at this cancer that
didn’t hear us or care,
and even more so
for needing our father
taken from us before the cancer came calling.
The untold horrors of the
cancer choke
stick in my throat.
I cant,
just cant speak it out
like a crave to,
so I breathe,
just breathe baby,
breathe,
and smile on.
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