by Donna Trussell

I understand how frightened
you are. You’re eager
to unfold, unwrap,

tag, categorize,
file away your fear
of cancer, along with facts

even worse
than chemicals and cuts.
Flowers begin to wilt,

and those who loved you
begin to forget, begin
again the illusion that you

yourself once had.
I used to be hostage
to fears and graves.

I was not a pretty sight.
But I practiced.
I got leverage.

I learned the lesson
of falling leaves
that wish for a quick

end to winter,
that lean into the place
where branches once stood.

First published on

About Quixotic Chick

I write. I take pictures. I survived cancer.
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