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.