The universe plays—
aligning planets with string,
tipping cups, slipping numbers
and small celestrial bodies
into my pocket like a trick
it knows all too well—
and I’m in for a wild ride.

7, 14, 21.

A row of my favorite doors
along the way and know better
than to ignore the ticketmaster.

March 14th—
Today is such a day
A day of synchronicity—
my father’s birthday,
the day for blood works
the day my ex-partner get
the results back from her
cancer operation.

A waiting room,
a needle, a past.
The air hoping for a futur—
even the clock seems rushed
to know.

March 14th —
diagnosis wrapped in gauze,
results not yet spoken.

It all started with one day,
a day to split me clean—
Hello, Wickerman!
stomach cancer over here,
then grief in the next room—
yours father just passed away.

[...]

The calls came back to back
like a one-two punch,
leaving nothing standing.

Now, I go looking
for a cart at the store.
None left.
My arms cradle
what I can carry—
cheese bagels, yogurt,
something sweet and cold—
a hug full of comfort food.

The total blinks—
$21.00

The universe
taps its foot.
I put the groceries down
I click open a link—
a song,
fire and rain,
a green number—
21 again.

Finally,
I can wipe my hands clean
of my cancer.