The pink half-gown is tied wrong.
I can’t figure out the strings.
My nipples are hard in the
fluorescent waiting room.
This is what the tumor had done,
reduced the whole world to nothing
I think of the way she knew
that eels slid from brook to brook
and then to the sea.
I keep trying to persuade my father
into a better opinion of me now that he is dead.
A BRIEF RESPITE FROM THE USUAL PERCEPTUAL DIVIDES: AFTER CHEMO I SKI THROUGH THE VERMONT WOODS IN ANOTHER CLIMATE CHANGE STORM
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