With metastatic cancer to the bones comes a pain that I cannot find a way to describe to bring you, dear reader, to feel compathy for my sadness and my loss. The physical pain invests itself into a marriage with your consciousness as well. There’s nothing like it that I’ve felt that’s so physically omnipotent. Imagine having hot tongs that black smiths pick up horse shoes from burning coals hacking away at your insides.
The past 10 days brought what would have been the 76th birthdays of both of my deceased parents and the first year since my mother’s death. My husband started his therapy back up but he’s not keeping with his doctors orders. My stepson who is 18 is on the precipice of failing high school and
Regret knitted into loose conversation wraps me,
Dragged by a fisherman’s net, casually tossed over the lee.
Splayed, filleted, pocketed and oversteeped:
‘The Robber of Roses Steals Only from Sleep.’