War Heroes

My watchman rushes forward one last time.

They’re missing suspicion and I know

It’s a great sign. While I make plans for home,

They busy themselves with pill dosages

And how much muscle mass I’ve lost.

How long has it been for me?

And how long do I have?

I’ve been saving for weeks,

And sliding them beneath

My paper-thin gown.

It’s one fit for a queen,

Or one who’s on death row.

Ten little white oblong helpers,

Sugar-coated disasters—

They’re the miracles of modern medicine.

But to me, a little regiment,

My only war heroes;

They—only they can win,

And end this war raging within.

One last falling clump;

it’s decayed, dead, and dry.

The hair fibers are in my open palm.

I drop them onto the sterile floor.

She’ll pick them up later.

Or maybe they’ll forget.

I’m hoping it isn’t a stretch

Hoping my earthly shell earns more concern.

Cleanliness is key in a place like this.

The glass sweats in my palm.

There were no treatments today;

I’m lucky to hold it at all.

One by one, by one.

Line ‘em up, knock them back.

The small, stout and firm Nurse appears.

“Belle,” I hold out my wrist, “Bathroom?”

She’s stronger than me, in all my youthful glory

My smile was brittle but very real.

How much longer do I have again?

God, please let them end this war raging within.

A/N: I totally redid this poem and added four more stanzas. It’s a tough subject, but it was on my mind at the time—cancer is a terrible disease.