The poem I wrote on her birthday
made her cry before her guests
We felt lame mimicking her dance
the swirl of her wrists
that left her hurt and embarrassed
The poem was about her energy
While the follicles in her stomach
lay flat and missed the protein
while she touched at her hair over
its drying scalp
or adjusted the inset of her hearing
aid
or while raising a smile from her
hospital bed
To hide
the drowsiness of the clever drugs
for the mischievous pain from the
raging cancer
Adding your comment: