#Stage4cancer brings to mind a place a movie might portray. For instance the inescapable slow walking monster approaches my house and I hear the ugly abhorrent thing rapping, scraping on my door. Perhaps, more subtly, one dark and stormy night, the wind kicks up frightening me with a tree branch running its claws along my windows. Am I dreaming in color of the darkest places my consciousness has to offer on tonight’s mind menu?
In the country of Illness
I live in a town called sick
Squabbling and wordless
Rounded outwardly and thick.
Nestled pyramids, soldiers of sand,
No servants hand, no strangers.
No one died today, no saints
Made. Cat wore the Ankh,
Carried the dog headed staff,
Drawing along the sea crooked to
And fro on the sand, wand dragging
Cry for the little girl inside yourself, On the strength of my back with enough us both. You may seem an Angel to so many, too many who cannot See, And yet a sister to only one, the only sister to me.