A shadow on the upper right lobe,
its probably nothing*

Its close to Christmas,
I think about our first
and how purple it was,
sunflower medallions
and George Winston.
I grew my hair long
and wore camouflage.

We ought to run a few more tests

My guilt was more than
I could carry back then,
gallons in half gallon buckets,
blood splashing onto
white carpet.

We'll get a little more blood on
Tuesday

The waiting game was nearly terminal,
the kids and I exchanged gifts in the Sears
parking lot. When I got home you held me.

We need to talk in my office for a minute

I cried about the choices they made.
You were never unkind. The rosaries I
made were hung on our bedposts,
they hang there still.

The shadow on your lung is a tumor

Its been five years.  They're adults now
and old enough to hear about death.

I'll schedule a biopsy for after Christmas

I don't think I'll tell them.
I don't think I'll tell you either..

maybe just once we'll have a peaceful holiday.