From the cancer ward a view, a dream
of a lake. All this glass is sterile,
frosted– we soften everything
we can soften. Sometimes with meds.
I recall how, when half-crazed, you tried
to leave and carry off a decorative vase,
and your paintings got much wilder,
vivid wet. There is no crimson here,
only windows the color of sea-glass,
and clean lacquered pine. It is peaceful
and nice– so quiet, floors above
the street, the orderly bridges, elegant
rooftops, that I can hear blunt
dread roll in my stomach as I walk
the long hallways, feel the chart’s sharp
nomenclature like needle-sticks. I never
don’t remember. But I wear hope
and a smile as a cloak, say things like
it will get worse
before it gets better. And of course,
who knows,
it might
OPTIONAL POETRY 
In tears! Xxx.
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excellent
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thanks!
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Heartrendingly beautiful. The first few stanzas are exceptionally strong. Hope this is not based on a true story. Sending you love & best wishes 🙂 ❤️
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All true, but it’s been a while so is getting easier– thank you!
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“But I wear hope and a smile as a cloak,” is a wonderfully crafted line. We have similar writing styles. Best wishes.
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Thanks!
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I love this part: I wear hope and a smile as a cloak. I’m a cancer survivor; this hit home. Lovely and raw.
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Congrats, and I am glad this resonated with you
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