Cancer

we put our cancer on the shelf last night
before we went to bed.

wanting it back,
we watched it beat against the wall,
watched it rise and fall
with the rhythm of a heart
next to the swarovski crystal swan
and the valentines bear
with the requisite red patch
bearing the words “I ove You”,
the “L” having succumbed
to a starving kitten
years ago.

in the morning,
we rushed for the shelf,
a ritualistic display of our excitement
at having it back inside of us,


there, where we could nurture it again,
this single cell,
which had chosen
so randomly to make
so many copies of itself,

dreaming of the day
it would burst into our blood,
a glorious metastasis,
and,
as it sent us trembling
into our final moments,

listening,
euphoric in the silence of the words
trying to escape
from between our clenched teeth,
but never quite making it.