Molly Fisk: Cancer, again

this time a slow-

growing rarity

tracing delicate

tendrils through

kidney and liver,

the lung’s sturdy

wall, artery

somewhere I

can’t remember,

though twice

I’ve been told.

How the mind

aches to abandon

the salient data

and amble back

to the meadow

we lingered in

only last week,

the one with

a stream, some

late-summer

columbine

nodding their

colorful heads

in a whisper

of breeze.

© 2018 Molly Fisk