Foot tapping on waiting room
Linoleum with the pace of test
Result nervousness.
Scent of mostly bad news
Layered on walls in dire need
Of paint and less tasteless
Decor.
Her name is a shot fired at
The shield surrounding her
Continous playback of worst
Case scenarios as her hand meets
That of the doctor
Whose eyes give less than
Nothing away.
Please sit down.
Sink like shards of shattered
Hearts, or float for decades in
Love with the worried man
Awaiting the same news with
Unsteady workman's hands
Around a ***** phone.
It vibrates, and the Doomsday
Clock in his chest skips ticks
And tocks, approaching a
Schrödinger's midnight or noon.
I'm in remission, she whispers.
Then nothing.
Nothing but two unison breaths
Carried across an umbilical
Cord connecting souls that just
Lost their full
Amount of
Weight.
This is Relief.
This is Sunrise;
Spring.