The Deceit of Cancer


They removed a chunk from your brain.
Cut out the growing mass of
malignancy. With that piece
missing, you were
different. Your
words: kinder.
Your touch:
softer.
But I remember the you of before.
Rough, violent outbursts
that often became
physical. Harsh,
cruel words,
that beat
me into
nothing.


East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​


Amy Waugh

Asphyxiation


Relaxed,
head thrown back,
skin tinged blue.
A shouted name,
a rough shake,
no response.
Clinched needle,
still chest.
Did you claw for air;
or did you give in?
Did you feel the choking,
the suffocation?
Was the high worth
the future?
You’ll never reach
that high again.
The Deceit of Cancer
They removed a chunk from your brain.
Cut out the growing mass of
malignancy. With that piece
missing, you were
different. Your
words: kinder.
Your touch:
softer.

I Did Not Cry


I did not cry for you.
I don’t know why,
but the tears would not come.
The others glared as if
I had committed some great
transgression.
Their sockets overflowed,
tears trickled down their cheeks.
Some were young and chubby;
some old and gaunt.
All wet with sorrow but one.
And I don’t know why,
but I did not cry