This Poem was Submitted By: carole j mennie On Date: 2001-05-23 11:55:19 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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We stroll, casually

We stroll, casually down long, chill hallways where cell phones are prohibited and patient's papers provide passport. (Check in, sign in, join the line in.) She, now reclining, mainlining pink poison, cancer killer cocktail. Do junkies shoot up this slowly? Torturous waiting, and she, storytelling. Recalling a trip to Ireland a dozen years ago, an inn with no heat where she huddled under quilts with her David, savoring the memory like Christmas candy. And then, the drive home through Philadelphia's suburbs to a house on Sugartown road where life ain't so sweet anymore and dust bunnies cavort under the couch hiding from a half-crazy cat. Fifteen stairs to the bed--too far. She drops right here, into deep, dreamless sleep and creeping, gray-purple dusk while drugs do battle against unseen invaders. I, loving sister, comrade-in-arms, count her losses, a husband, a breast, and staggered by the sum run into the bathroom, vomiting in the toilet bowl. Then, turning lights on everywhere, hoping more watts will keep darkness from slipping inside, uninvited.

Copyright © May 2001 carole j mennie

Additional Notes:
Never published. Written (finally) this morning after a year's worth of gestation. This trip was followed by many more...and then radiation. And she is alive!


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