Cancer

He bites

Where there is no meat

Only bone

And sweat

And fat

That sucks a voice

Into it

Saying

There is a rock

That does not roll

For there is no hill

Just land that flattens

All into a square

Then a line

Then a dot

So small

That it can’t have said to be there

But it is

For a while at least.

The voice quiets as he

Chews on my breast,

Mouthing wishes of never growing old

And running faster than before

So that no one can catch him

Not even himself

And he hems and haws

And dashes past all things

Until he finds my chest

Opens it with his fingers

Toys around with buttons

And finds barren

Whiteness upon whiteness upon whiteness.

He lays down

Imprints a snow angel.

Divine.